


Betrothed

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU: Different First Meeting, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Duty, First Kiss, First Time, Johnlock Fairy Tale, M/M, Sherlock's Getting Married, Sherlock's Virginity, date, impossible love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Johnlock Fairy Tale (kind of): innocent and inexperienced Sherlock has been betrothed to a woman he doesn't love. He isn't looking forward to it, but believes it's his family duty. Until he meets John Watson who happily shows him the many, many things Sherlock doesn't understand about life and about love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Meeting In The Park

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“What’s going on over at the Holmes place?” John asked as he made his way into his office. Sarah followed and leaned against the door frame, her arms crossed and brows raised. “What?" John said. "Did I miss something again?”

“John, honestly, don’t you read the paper at all?”

“Yes, but I like to stick to the news. And maybe the sports. I don’t waste time with gossip,” he said. The only reason he was asking now is because, in all the years he had walked by the manor to get to work, he had never seen any signs of life. The place was huge, and it was always very neat and taken care of, but John had never seen anyone actually working on the home or coming out or going in. Today he passed by and there were tons of people running around, planting new flowers, jotting down notes and measuring things.  

Sarah rolled her eyes. “One of the brothers is getting married,” she said. “He was betrothed, can you believe it?”

“Do people still do that?” John asked, looking over at her. 

“Apparently,” she shrugged. “It’s all for the money if you ask me but it’s happening in a few weeks so it’s going to be all over the media. I doubt even you can miss it." 

“Well, I am going to try very hard,” John smiled. He sent her away so that he could start seeing his patients, hoping to get out early enough to meet his friends at the pub. They were having dinner first, and it would be nice to eat with them instead of showing up just to drink at the end, which is what often happened due to work. Unfortunately, it was going to happen again tonight, because as the day went on more and more people flooded in, and even worse, a lot of them wasted time telling him about the wedding and their theories and really, why was everyone so obsessed with it all? 

When the day was over, John said goodbye to Sarah and made his way to the pub, finding that the boys were gone, most likely on the crawl already. John was going to leave when his stomach growled loudly and he sighed, turning and heading back inside. He could eat something quick before going home. He took a seat at the bar and ordered, watching the telly overhead while he waited.  

At the house, Sherlock was pouting, refusing to speak to anyone. The problem, though, was that no one was interesting in listening to him anyway so his protest basically went unnoticed. It was all irrelevant anyway; he had already made every case he could make and it hadn’t mattered. He didn’t even know this person he was supposed to be soon marrying, and he really had no interest in her at all. But he also knew that this was how things worked in their family: Mycroft, as the eldest, would continue the family fortune through his work, and Sherlock, as the younger, would marry into another family of the same class. That’s how it had always worked, and as his mother had said, it wasn’t going to change for Sherlock’s whims. She had tried to ensure him that little in his actual day-to-day life would change: he and his wife could live in the house and, if they didn’t grow to love each other, they could keep the relationship rather formal. He knew that, of course, would only work if he and his wife felt the same about the whole arrangement, but he couldn’t think about that now. It was unfair, but he was old enough to know that life was unfair and as his mother had said, he could be in a far worse position.

“I’m going out for a walk,” he called to no one who was listening to him. The garden was busy and full of people -- he noticed his mother talking to a group of workmen. Someone asked Sherlock a question, but he directed them to his mother, saying “She makes all the decisions.” He headed off, away from the house.

John smiled down at his food and dug in happily, ordering dessert as well. Why not? Maybe after this he would go home for the night and just catch the boys next time. He watched the match as he ate, happy that it wasn’t too crowded tonight.

Sherlock walked to the edge of the lawn, listening to the sounds of all the people until he could barely hear them anymore. He stepped onto the road and immediately felt better. He walked until he got to a small park. He found a bench, where he sat silently for a little while, going away inside his head to where everything was always as he wanted it to be. When he returned, he took a book out of his pocket and began reading.

After John ate and finished his pint, he paid and started to head home. But it was so nice out and he wasn’t actually sleepy yet so he took the long way through the park. Half way through he saw a man reading and he did a double take, pausing before he could realise that he was staring for too long. “Isn’t it a bit dark?” he heard himself asking, surprised that he did.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “You’re right -- it is.” He blinked a few times and shut his book. “And you are . . . the reading police out to catch any late readers?”

John grinned and shook his head. “Just concerned about your eyes. I’m a doctor after all,” he said

“Is that so?” Sherlock asked. He held out his hand to shake. “Well, I am . . . not a doctor.”

John moved to shake his hand and took that as an invitation to sit down with him as well. “What were you trying to read?”

“A book,” Sherlock said. “Sorry,” he added. He pulled the book out of his pocket and set it on John’s lap.

John looked over and saw it was a science book. “Hmm. Looks interesting,” he said.

“It is,” Sherlock said. “And what do doctors these days read?”

“News, sports, medical marvels,” John said, leaning back on the bench. “I didn’t mean to bother you, I can go if you like,” he said.

“You can stay if you’d like,” Sherlock said. “I’m just . . . doing nothing, I guess.”

John nodded. “Me too. I was just heading home to go to bed. Are you coming from work as well?”

“I’m not, not really,” Sherlock said. “Today’s been difficult but I’ve not been to work or anything. It’s my family . . . they’re difficult to deal with.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” John said. “Well, I can hang out with you for a bit if you like.”

Sherlock looked over and smiled a little. “So are you married, Doctor?”

“Nope,” he said. “You?”

“Not at the moment,” Sherlock said.

John couldn’t help a small deflation of disappointment. “Does that mean you will be soon?”

“It appears to be happening,” Sherlock said.

“You don’t sound very pleased, if you don’t mind me saying,” John said.  
  
”I don’t mind you saying at all,” Sherlock said. “I’m not pleased, well, I guess I don’t care -- I knew it was going to happen. I’m just not particularly looking forward to it all.”

“That sounds like it’s arranged or something,” John said.

“Don’t be stupid,” Sherlock said kind of sharply. “Obviously it’s arranged. You know who I am. You know what’s going on.”

John flinched and shook his head. “I don’t,” he said confused. “Should I? I’m sorry.”

Sherlock looked at him and rolled his eyes. He held out his hand again. “Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh. Oh!” John said suddenly, shaking the man’s hand. “From the house,” he added stupidly. “My coworker was just telling me about you. Well, about the upcoming wedding.”

“I told you you knew,” Sherlock said. “Did you have a fun conversation about me?”

“No,” John said quickly. “I just asked her what was going on at the house because I pass it every day going to work and it’s always quiet and today it wasn’t. She told me about the upcoming wedding. That was all.”

“Well,” Sherlock said. “What’s your take on it all -- as a doctor, I mean.”

John tilted his head and sighed as he thought about it. “Well, as a doctor, I have no thought on it at all. As a friend . . . you shouldn’t do it if you’re not happy.” He knew it was a bold statement as he wasn’t a friend but a complete stranger and he knew nothing about the situation, but it was out now and he didn’t try to take it back. 

“I appreciate your candor,” Sherlock said. “That’s why you’re my _best_ friend.” He looked over and smiled.

John smiled wider, feeling very relieved. “So why are you doing it?”

“No choice, I’m afraid,” Sherlock said. “I doubt your friend from work understands, but that’s kind of how it is in my world. I’m sure it sounds ridiculous to you and it probably is but . . . I guess you could think of it kind of like a business merger. It’s not love or anything.”

“That seems . . . sad,” John said, hesitating on the word and getting nervous again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s only because you live in a world where you think there’s a thing called love. I don’t live in that world, I’m afraid,” Sherlock said. “And while you might see that as sad, I might be inclined to point out that you are alone. So where’s that love business in your life, eh?”

“Well, I don’t have someone to love right now,” John said. “And I only meant someday you might meet the girl of your dreams and you wouldn’t be able to be with her.”

“Seriously?” Sherlock said, looking at him with genuine surprise. “I can guarantee that’s never going to happen even if this wedding weren’t going to take place. Which it is.”

“Why not?” John asked, looking over at him properly. He was very handsome. It seemed to John he could have his pick of any woman in the city if he wanted to. 

“Because I don’t dream of girls,” Sherlock said, looking forward into the distance.

John opened his mouth and then closed it without looking away from him. “Oh,” he said softly. He turned his head and faced forward like Sherlock was. He didn’t know what to say now. That was even sadder. Did this woman know? Did it matter? 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sherlock said. He turned to look at John. “It’s a little trick I do. It doesn’t matter really, does it? Not in a world that acknowledges love isn’t real.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” John promised. “And . . . what if it does?”

“I do,” Sherlock said. “And it doesn’t.” He swallowed. “Not in my world.”

“Then come to mine,” John said, facing forward again. 

Sherlock smiled. “I don’t think I’d fit in there. But thanks for the offer.” He sat forward a little. “I think I should probably get going now.”

John looked over at him and smiled softly. “Okay. I should go as well.” He rubbed his thighs before standing up. “Um. I’ll be having lunch here tomorrow, around noon . . . just saying,” he rambled. “Good night.” He turned and left before he could regret it, hurrying off towards the other end of the park and his flat. He couldn’t stop thinking about the whole situation and wondering how he would feel about being in the same place. The poor man didn’t even like women and he was being forced into this marriage -- it was awful.

Sherlock walked home. He went inside and up to his room, without hearing any of the people who spoke to him.


	2. A Date

The next morning Sherlock’s mother woke him up to ask a few questions about the wedding.  
  
”I literally do not care about any of those details,” he told her. “You have my permission to do whatever you want to do since you’re going to do that anyway. Now leave me alone as I’ve got to get ready for an important appointment.” He slid out of bed and took a long, hot shower. He got dressed, grabbed his book and headed out. He sat down on the same bench as last night and opened his book. But he wasn’t reading. He was waiting.

When John took his lunch he hurried out of the office, ignoring Sarah’s offer for a walk to the pub. The park was a bit farther than he would have liked so he didn’t have much time. As he approached the bench he saw Sherlock and grinned. He’d come. “Hello,” he said as he sat down, trying to arrange his face into something more neutral. 

Sherlock looked up and smiled. “I forgot you were going to be here,” he said. “I’m kidding. Obviously I wanted to see you again. I enjoyed talking to you last night.”

John chuckled and started on his sandwich. “There’s extra if you want,” he said. He took another bite. “Do you mind if I ask you more about this wedding?”

“Ask away,” Sherlock said. “It’s the only thing anyone talks about these days. Don’t expect me to have any answers, though.”

“Does she know about your preferences?”

“No idea,” Sherlock said. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know her preferences -- preferences aren’t an issue.”

“Does your family know?” John asked. 

Sherlock thought about it for a moment. “I really have no idea,” he admitted. “But I do know it wouldn’t make a difference.”

“Are you guys expected to . . . have a family?” John asked. 

“I presume so,” Sherlock said. He looked down. “Yes, I mean.”

John looked down and opened and closed his mouth a couple times before biting his lip. “Let me take you out. On a date,” he said. He knew it was crazy, but he couldn’t help it. He had to try.

“You’re mad, Doctor,” Sherlock said, smiling softly. “I know what you’re doing . . . I know what you’re trying to do.” He swallowed. “All right, all right, you can. But please know that this wedding is going to happen regardless. My parents aren’t changing their minds for me -- no offense but I doubt they’re going to change their minds just because you think it’s a bad idea.”

“I’m going to make you change your mind,” John said confidently. “And then you will tell them no and run away with me.” He smiled as if he was joking, but essentially that’s what he was hoping for. He knew he didn’t know this man very well but he liked him, and he hoped that Sherlock would like him as well.

“Well, you can give it your best shot, Doctor,” Sherlock said. “But if it’s the money you’re after, you might as well give up now. No wedding, no money -- remember, I told you, it’s all business.”

“I’m hurt that you would think so little of me,” John said with mock offense.

“Just making things clear,” Sherlock said. “So where are we going on this so-called date? And when? We’ll have to work around my wedding preparations, which I’m guessing is a response you don’t usually get when asking people out.”

“No. But there’s a nice little Italian place a couple blocks from the park. We can meet there tonight at eight,” John said.

Sherlock thought about it. “All right,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his phone and handed it to John. “Put your number in here -- I will do everything I can to be there, but if anything comes up, I want to be able to let you know.”

“Okay,” John said, entering his number into Sherlock’s phone. He noticed the time and swore softly. “I need to get back to work -- I’ll see you tonight!” He hurried back through the park and to the office, only a few minutes late. His mind was stuck in the park and on his dinner with Sherlock. At the end of the day he almost told Sarah but then he thought better of it. In her eyes -- and everyone else’s -- Sherlock should not be dating.

Sherlock walked home and decided to check in with his mother, hoping that if she needed anything from him, he could get it over with quickly so he could go out that evening. She didn’t really have any questions; she just wanted to tell him about her plans. He let her. It was all so complicated, dramatic, expensive, and just unnecessary. Eventually he excused himself and went up to his room to nap for a bit. Then he showered and dressed, even though the date was two hours away. He sat awkwardly in his room at his desk, waiting.

John paced in his sitting room, dressed and ready to go, but it was too early. Eventually the time came and he took a cab to the restaurant and got a table, fiddling with his napkin while he waited for Sherlock.

Finally Sherlock stood up and headed downstairs. He tried to sneak out but his mother caught him on the stairs.

“Where are you off to?” she asked him.

“A few errands,” he said. “I won’t be out late.” He reached for his coat. “Will you be like this when I’m married -- asking me where I am every moment of the day?” he asked.

“No,” his mother said, a bit flustered. “Go where you want,” she added as she walked away.

Sherlock smiled as he headed out the door. He got out his phone and sent a message.

_I’m on my way. SH_

He caught a taxi and arrived quickly, seeing John sitting at the table at the window. He smiled again and went inside. “You look . . . handsome,” he said quietly as he took off his coat and sat down.

John was looking out of the window when Sherlock got out of his cab, and his whole body warmed. He was gorgeous. When he came in and sat down, John smiled a bit shyly and was fiddling with his napkin even more than before. “You too,” he said, catching his eye and smiling wider. “I’m glad you were able to make it.”

“I’ve never been on a date before,” Sherlock admitted. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do.” He glanced over the menu. “Do you care if I get some wine? I don’t have a problem or anything, but I’m a bit nervous and I think it might help relax me just a bit.”

“No, I was thinking about getting wine as well,” John said, glad that he had brought up picking the bottle. John was sure that Sherlock’s expertise and taste would better suit them than John just picking one at random. He wanted to keep Sherlock’s mind off of the wedding so he had tried to brainstorm questions to ask instead. “So what do you like to do for fun?”

Sherlock chose a wine and they ordered their food. He fiddled with his silverware as he answered, “I don’t know. I guess, experiments and things like that. I’m interested in science. I like . . . knowing stuff, I guess.” He felt quite stupid. He wondered if this is what it’d be like when he was married -- the woman asking questions he didn’t know how to answer.

“What kind of experiments?” John asked interested. He sipped at his wine and watched Sherlock’s fingers playing with everything, wishing he could help him relax. 

Sherlock looked over at John’s face. He really did seem interested. He started describing the last experiment he had done, pleased that John recognised some of the things he was talking about. Whether it was the subject matter or the wine, Sherlock started to relax a little.

John listened carefully to Sherlock’s explanations, smiling when Sherlock talked about his results and laughing when he talked about small explosions or disasters. He was easy to talk to, clearly passionate about his interests, and it made John wonder if this woman was going to let it carry on. He couldn’t help wondering if she was as opposed to the marriage as Sherlock was, but they were having such a nice time that he didn’t ask. John told Sherlock about his old science fairs at school and his lame experiments like which brand of kitchen roll soaked up the most water. He was pleased when it made Sherlock laugh. 

“Should I be worried that you are responsible for people’s health?” Sherlock asked.

John rolled his eyes and laughed again. “I’m an excellent doctor, thank you very much. The severity of the illness tells me which paper towel to place over their head,” he grinned. 

“Aha,” Sherlock said. “Very clever. I hadn’t thought of that.” They talked a little longer -- John telling him about his work and Sherlock bragging about the fact he rarely got ill. Sherlock didn’t drink too much wine but it wasn’t long before he felt quite at ease talking to John.

When the food and wine was finished John leaned back in his seat and gazed at Sherlock for a few moments. “Do you want to walk to the park?” he asked, not ready for this date to end just yet. 

“Yes, let’s,” Sherlock said. He got out his wallet to retrieve some money.

“No,” John said, covering his hands and the wallet. “It's my treat. I asked you out,” he said. He left money on the table and stood, putting his coat on and holding his hand out for Sherlock’s. 

Sherlock frowned a bit -- it seemed ridiculous that this man was paying when Sherlock had access to so much money. He stood up, but didn’t take John’s hand. Instead he stuffed his into his pockets. Things suddenly felt so unfair to Sherlock.

John flushed and put his hand in his pocket quickly, leading the way out. They walked quietly as John tried to think of something else for them to talk about. 

“Why are you on your own?” Sherlock asked. “You’re obviously nice and handsome and a doctor. Why don’t you have someone?”

John shrugged. “I haven’t met anyone I liked lately,” he said. 

“But you’re actively trying to find someone?” Sherlock asked.

“I wasn’t really thinking about it when I saw you in the park. And then I did,” he admitted.

“Why would you choose someone who was about to be married to someone else?” Sherlock said. “That doesn’t seem all that clever,” he added, looking over and smiling a little.

“I didn’t know that when I saw you and then it was too late for me,” John smiled.

“What? Do you think you love me, then? Is that what you’re saying?” Sherlock teased.

“Well no, but I like you,” John said.

“I like you, too, John,” Sherlock said. He looked over at him. “Do you live alone? Could we go back to your flat?”

“Yeah, we can. It’s just a couple streets that way,” John said, leading them.

“Let’s go,” Sherlock said. “I just feel like . . . I can’t be myself when there are other people around.” He wasn’t sure if he should have asked, but he was glad they didn’t have to sit out in the park where perhaps someone from his house might see him.

“Okay,” John smiled, taking them to his flat. “I have some wine, if you like.”

“Yeah sure,” Sherlock said. He looked round. It was a small flat, tidy, but felt quite homely. Comfortable. After taking off his coat, he sat down on the sofa. “Your place is nice,” he said.

John smiled and poured two glasses, coming back and sitting on the sofa with him. “Thanks. It’s small but it works,” he said.

Sherlock took a little sip. “Bigger isn’t always better when it comes to houses,” he said. “There are rooms at my house that I don’t think anyone’s gone into for years. It’s a waste really.” He took another small sip of wine -- he wasn’t entirely sure how much he should talk about the reality of his life. There was a part of him that liked being able to escape it while with John, even if it were only for a short time.

John nodded. “You know, I could sort of tell that when I passed the house. That there’s a lot of unused space.” He took another sip of wine and turned to face him better. “Do you _have_ to stay there?”

“Where else would I go?” Sherlock said. “My life right now . . . I have everything I need. If I leave, I have nothing.”

“But if you stay . . .” John trailed off and shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know. Sorry,” he said.

“If I stay I’ll have to be around someone I don’t know and probably won’t like,” Sherlock said. “Go ahead, you can say it.”

“It’s just . . .you wouldn’t have nothing,” John said.

“I would, John. I’m a grown man with no job, no experience. I’d have nothing,” Sherlock said. “So you can see my dilemma. Plus I’d lose my family. Who are far from perfect . . . but they’re mine.”

“They would disown you for trying to live your own life?” John asked.

“Obviously,” Sherlock said. “Family -- as I said, it’s business. Why would they help support me if I’m not helping them?”

John opened his mouth and closed it with a small sigh. “Your marriage is business. Not your family,” he said.

“The marriage is for the family,” Sherlock said. “Listen, do we have to keep talking about it? Can’t we talk about something else? Let’s talk about your problems -- why did your last relationship end?”

“Sorry, yeah,” John said. “Um, it ended because I was called to war.”

“Ah, that old excuse, eh?” Sherlock said and then he laughed a little. He realised he was kind of drunk. “So you’re a heartbreaker . . . and now you want to break mine.”

“No! She broke up with me. And I don’t want to break your heart,” he added.

“You kind of already are,” Sherlock said softly.

“What? How? I didn’t mean to,” he said quickly. He didn’t know what Sherlock was talking about.

“You’re just . . . you’re just being kind to me and I’m finding it . . . nice,” Sherlock said. He swallowed awkwardly. “I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

John bit his lip and set his glass down, scooting a bit closer to Sherlock. He touched his hand lightly, lacing their fingers as his other hand held his arm. “I can’t help being nice to you,” he murmured, looking up at him.

“Why?” Sherlock asked. “Why me?”

“I like you. You’re so handsome and so smart," John said, now much closer to Sherlock, holding his gaze.

“I like you, too, John,” Sherlock said softly. “I wish . . . things were different.”

“Me too,” John said quietly, glancing at his lips.

“I hope we can spend more time together .. .before the wedding, I mean,” Sherlock said. He wrapped his fingers around John’s wrist and stroked the skin.

“As much as you want,” John said, looking at his lips again, then Sherlock’s fingers around his wrist, and then his eyes again.

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” Sherlock said abruptly. His face felt warm.

John smiled softly and closed the space between them, kissing him lightly.

Sherlock leaned into the kiss, his hand squeezing John’s wrist tightly. He pulled back and asked, “Was that okay?”

John nodded. “It was lovely,” he smiled.

“I liked it,” Sherlock said. “I don’t want to have to kiss her.” He leaned closer to John, snuggling against his shoulder.

“You can kiss me again,” John said, touching his cheek lightly.

Sherlock turned his face towards John’s and kissed his mouth softly. He lifted his hand to John’s head, holding the kiss longer this time.

John kept the kiss light but didn’t pull away, touching his neck and cheek.

Sherlock’s fingers tightening in John’s hair, pulling lightly. He had an urge to crawl onto John’s lap, to push against him, to move his body. But he didn’t do those things. Instead he just kept kissing John until it was over and he put his arms around him in a hug.

John leaned against him, closing his eyes with a sigh. “That was really nice too,” he said.

“John,” Sherlock said. He didn’t know what else to say. There were a million things in his head, but it felt like he couldn’t make words to say any of them.

“Do you want to go out again tomorrow?” John asked.

“Yes, please,” Sherlock said quickly. “Can we? Can we come back here?”

“Yes,” he smiled, looking up at him. “I get off work at four, you can come right over,” he said.

“Good,” Sherlock said. “Can we kiss again before I leave tonight?”

“Oh yes,” John smiled, touching his cheek again.

Sherlock looked up and kissed John again, a little harder this time. He opened his mouth a little as he pressed in against the kiss. His hands moved across John’s back.

John pushed his tongue forward to meet Sherlock’s, humming softly as he lightly gripped the back of his head.

Sherlock let his tongue move as well. It was easy. He wished he could stay kissing John like for the rest of the night. But he knew he couldn’t, so eventually he ended the kiss and pulled back. “I should go,” he finally said.

John nodded, petting his hair once. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah,” Sherlock said. “I’m looking forward to it.” He reached for his coat and slowly slid it on. He really didn’t want to go, but he knew he had to. He gave John a small kiss and thanked him for dinner and then left, walking down the street a bit and then catching a taxi home.

John watched him leave and leaned against the door, smiling like an idiot. He liked Sherlock so much and he knew this was going to be hard -- he didn’t see a way out for Sherlock at the moment -- but he hoped with time they would figure something out.

When Sherlock got home, he went into the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. His mother came in so he poured her one as well.

“Where were you tonight then?” she asked.

“I just went out,” he said.

“On your own?” she said.

He looked over and wasn’t sure what the right answer was. “Yeah,” he said. “Just walked around a bit, got something to eat, that kind of stuff.”

“Please open your mind about this, Sherlock,” she said, changing the subject. “It’ll be all right. Your father and I -- we worked out all right, so there’s no reason that your marriage won’t be as good as ours. She’s nice -- she’s always been nice when she’s been over here. Just try, okay?”

“Yeah,” Sherlock said. He turned to go up to his room. “I might go to the cinema tomorrow,” he said.

“Fine,” his mother said. “Don’t forget though -- they’re coming over on Saturday so make sure you’re around.”  
  
”Right,” he said.

Upstairs in his room, he undressed and got into bed. His mother was right -- his fiancée had always been nice every time she’d been over. But not nice like John. He spent one evening with John and felt like he knew and liked him better than this woman. It wasn’t fair. He pulled out his phone.

_Thank you. SH_

_Anytime. -JW_

Sherlock wished he had taken a picture of John. He set his phone on his bedside cabinet. He finished his tea, turned off the light, and curled up. He thought about kissing John. It had been so nice. He lay there imagining it over and over.


	3. On The Sofa

As John walked to work he sent Sherlock a good morning text. He couldn’t wait to see him.

Sherlock heard his phone vibrate and quickly reached for it. He had dreamt of John and now this message meant that his first thought was of John as well. He smiled.

_I dreamt of you. SH_

_Yeah? Anything good? -JW_

John smiled and tapped the desk while he waited.

_More kissing related things. SH_

_I’ve been thinking about that a lot. -JW_

_I’m never going to kiss her. Only you. SH_

John bit his lip and felt his belly squirm. He didn’t know how that was going to happen, but he decided not to mention it now.

_We’ll be kissing a lot later. -JW_

_Good. Are you at work? SH_

_Yeah. It’s slow and I’m thinking about you. -JW_

Sherlock sat up and moved to his computer. He ordered some flowers to be sent to John’s surgery. Then he realised he needed the toilet so he went to the bathroom and then slid back into bed.

_Don’t make any medication mistakes. I don’t want someone to die because I’ve distracted you. SH_

_The worst I see is a sniffly nose. Don’t worry. -JW_

_I need to go make myself look pretty now. I’ll see you later. SH_

Sherlock rolled out of bed and put his dressing gown on. He slid his phone in the pocket and headed down for some tea.

John smiled and put his phone away and tried to get back to work. It was hard not to be distracted, especially when the flowers came. He sent Sherlock a thank you, and then working was impossible so he went home early.

_I came home early if you’d like to come by sooner. -JW_

Sherlock had busied himself getting ready and was pleased to get John’s message.

_I’ll be over shortly. SH_

He snuck out of the house before anyone noticed, carrying a bag with him.

John made some lunch and opened a light wine, tidying up more out of nerves than anything else. He had the flowers on the table.

Sherlock knocked at John’s door. He felt so eager -- to see John again, to talk to him and to kiss him.

John hurried to open the door, smiling up at Sherlock. “I’m glad you’re here! Hi,” he said, moving to let him in.

Sherlock stepped in and kissed John quickly. Then he dropped his bag and took off his coat. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he said. 

“Me too --especially after those,” he smiled, motioning to the table. “Are you hungry?” 

“Okay,” Sherlock said. He wasn’t really but he wanted to do whatever John wanted to do.

“I just made something light, I was thinking we could stay in this time,” John said. He served both plates and moved the flowers so they could see each other. “Did you have a good day?”

“I really didn’t do much,” Sherlock said, suddenly embarrassed. John had worked, had helped people, and all Sherlock had done was waste away the day. “Um, I brought you a present,” he said to change the subject. He grabbed his bag before he sat down.

“What? You didn’t have to do that,” John said as he went to sit down with him.

“It’s not a big deal,” Sherlock said and suddenly he felt a bit stupid about it. He pulled a blanket out of the bag. “It’s just a quilt . . . I noticed you kept your flat a bit cool so I thought maybe you could use it to keep warm . . . I mean, if you felt cold. It’s not a big deal,” he repeated.

“Oh,” John said, opening the blanket and smiling at Sherlock. “I love it, Sherlock, thank you.” He leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“It’s from my house -- it’s not new,” Sherlock said. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to buy your love. That said, though, if you need anything, I can help.” He stared down at the table.

“No one will miss it?” John asked, folding it and setting it on the arm of the sofa.

“It’s from my room,” Sherlock said. “No one goes in there.” He turned around to look over. “It looks good there,” he said kind of awkwardly.

John smiled at the thought that he had something from Sherlock’s room. “Thank you, Sherlock.” He leaned in and kissed him again.

“You’re welcome,” Sherlock said. “Let’s have lunch,” he said. “And then we can figure out what to do next. I have an idea for dinner -- a place we can order from.”

“I’m really glad you’re planning on being here for dinner,” John said as he put the plates on the table and served the food. “Did you have a good day at least?”

“I’m hoping to now,” Sherlock said. “It feels like my day didn’t start until I came here.” He took a bite of food. “I just feel so comfortable with you. It’s weird -- I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. Really . . . it’s just weird. But good, I mean.”

John bit his lip and smiled. “I feel really comfortable with you, too,” he said. “But it’s good, right?”

“Definitely,” Sherlock said. “I just wish . . . we could be together all the time. It’s stupid, maybe, I know I’m a bit . . . backwards because I’ve got no experience but . . .” His voice trailed off. It was embarrassing but he felt compelled to be honest.

“That’s okay, Sherlock. Just trust your instincts -- it’s hard to mess up,” he smiled.

“I’ll try,” Sherlock said. He ate some more of his food. “This tastes nice.” Then he looked up. “If we hadn’t met, what would you be doing today?" 

“I’d have called up my friends to meet up. I missed them the other day,” John said.

“Oh,” Sherlock said, his voice a little disappointed even though he didn’t really understand why. “I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from them . . . I don’t have to stay long if you’d rather . . .”

“No! Not at all,” John assured him, touching his hand. “I would much rather be spending time with you.”

“I bet your friends would hate me,” Sherlock said. He rubbed John’s hand with his fingertips.

“They would not,” John said, watching their fingers. “You’re amazing.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? I doubt I’ll ever meet them,” Sherlock said, pushing his plate away a bit. “Let’s have a cup of tea and move to the sofa.”

John cleared the plates and started the kettle. “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right there.”

Sherlock got up and walked over to the sofa. He kicked off his shoes and sat down where he’d sat last night when he and John had first kissed. He hoped they would kiss again.

A few minutes later John joined him with two mugs, sitting close to him. “Here you go,” he smiled.

Sherlock took his mug and waited for John to sit down. Once he had, Sherlock shifted slightly, kind of lifting his legs so they were over John’s lap. “Sorry,” he said. “I just wanted to be closer.”

John smiled and put his hand over Sherlock’s legs. “I like being close to you.”

“Then I've changed my mind -- I’m not sorry,” Sherlock said, smiling. He took a sip of tea and then leaned his head back against the sofa. “God, I just feel so comfortable here.”

“I’m really glad,” John smiled. “I’m happy that I can give you that. I love having you here.”

Sherlock set his tea down. “Maybe we should try kissing again -- you know, to make sure it wasn’t just beginner’s luck yesterday.” He smiled cheekily.

John grinned and put his mug down as well. “Do you want to come a little closer?” he asked, patting his lap and biting his lip nervously.

Sherlock slid a bit closer. He put his arms around John’s shoulders and leaned in and kissed John softly first and then more hungrily.

John held Sherlock’s hips and returned the kiss eagerly, humming softly.

“I want to try . . .” Sherlock said as he moved his mouth over John’s face to kiss and suck on his ear. His hands gripped John’s arms.

“Try what, love?” John asked softly, his hands moving over Sherlock’s back and sides and hips.

“Try kissing different bits of you,” Sherlock said, dragging his mouth down to John’s neck. He kissed there and started sucking on the skin. He could taste John -- it was incredible. He couldn’t believe that not only had he never done this, he hadn’t even known it was a possibility. It was making his whole body feel warm.

“Ah,” John half moaned, tilting his head so that Sherlock would have more room to explore.

“I like this bit,” Sherlock said. He shifted his body a little, pressing his hips closer to John. He let one hand move to John’s hair and gripped it softly.

John moaned louder and rolled up against Sherlock, gripping his hips. “I like this bit too,” he murmured.

“I like those noises. Are there always noises?” Sherlock said, his own voice lower and slower.

John nodded. “You bring them out of me,” he said. He tugged Sherlock’s shirt out of his trousers and touched his skin lightly.

Sherlock shivered at the feel of John’s skin against his own. He fiddled with the buttons on John’s shirt, opening a few so he could kiss lower.

“Sherlock,” John breathed, arching against him and sliding his hands further along Sherlock’s back, farther up his shirt.

“Do I have to stop?” Sherlock whispered. “I don’t want to stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” John said softly. He brought his hands around and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Let’s cover up,” Sherlock said, reaching for the quilt. It was stupid -- he was a grown man -- but he’d never really been around anyone without all his clothes on, and he suddenly felt shy. Not shy enough to stop though.

John pulled Sherlock’s shirt off and let it fall to the floor, touching his chest and stomach. “You’re so handsome,” he said, leaning in to kiss his chest.

“You are,” Sherlock said. “You’re . . . beautiful.” He pressed himself against John, feeling their skin touching and he realised he was starting to get an erection. He was pretty sure this was normal, but he’d also never done that in front of anyone else either. “John, I’m . . .” He wasn’t quite sure what to say.  
  
”It’s okay, Sherlock,” John murmured against his skin, moving lower and flicking his tongue over the nipple.

“God,” Sherlock moaned. “God, John, that feels good. I . . . it feels good.”  
  
John sucked lightly and moved to the other, his hands gliding up Sherlock’s ribs.

Sherlock pulled the quilt around them both and it felt so comfortable and natural and he said, “Could we lie down on the sofa?”

John nodded, sitting so Sherlock was laying down and John was on top of him. He kissed his mouth again, his hands working at the button on his trousers.

“John,” Sherlock moaned again. He wasn’t sure precisely what to do so he followed and began opening John’s trousers. He could feel that John had an erection as well which made Sherlock feel even more excited. He pressed his mouth against John’s neck again and sucked the skin there as he reached inside and felt John through his pants.

“Oh!” John moaned, pushing into his hand. He tugged Sherlock’s trousers down and rubbed Sherlock through his pants. “Can I take these off too?” he asked softly.  
  
”All right,” Sherlock said. He was nervous, but so curious about what was going to happen. He helped John remove his trousers and then reached to pull the quilt over them.

John tugged them down as well, biting his lip at the sight. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and stroked softly, scooting down and licking at the head.

“John, my God,” Sherlock called out loudly. His breath changed quickly. He almost couldn’t believe what was happening. He rested a hand on John’s hair. “God, John, it . . .” he tried to speak but he was having trouble forming words now.

John took the head into his mouth, bobbing up and down while holding the base, swirling his tongue.

Sherlock tried to focus on his breath, closing his eyes to help calm himself. “I’ve never . . .” he mumbled, tangling his fingers in John’s hair.

John moved lower, taking more of Sherlock into his mouth. He was rolling his hips against the sofa for the friction.

Sherlock moved his hand down to John’s shoulder, but he couldn’t do much more -- it was like his brain had been taken over and he could barely think. There was nothing in his head except the feeling John was giving him. He could feel his muscles beginning to tighten, a coiling in his belly. He knew what that meant. He tried to say John’s name again.

John rubbed Sherlock’s belly and his thigh, hollowing his cheeks as he moved. He thrust into the sofa harder, moaning around him.

Sherlock felt his hands grip John’s shoulders too hard but then his hips were moving against John’s mouth and then he was coming into it and it was like he couldn’t see or hear or think anything. He could barely breathe, it was like he had forgotten how to breathe. And then he was breathing and saying John’s name over and over as he panted heavily.

John swallowed around him, reaching down and palming himself until he came in his pants with Sherlock. He pulled away and wiped his mouth before kissing Sherlock’s thigh softly, waiting for him to catch his breath.

“John,” Sherlock said once he’d caught his breath. “I never have . . . thank you.” He tried to pull John closer up towards him.

John moved up and lay beside him, kissing his cheek and petting his hair. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Sherlock assured him as he buried his face into John’s chest. “Except . . . now I never want to leave you.” He smiled and pressed a small kiss on his skin.

John smiled and wrapped his arms around Sherlock. “You don’t have to leave. It’s still early,” he said.

Sherlock snuggled against him. “Can we rest for a little bit? I feel like I want to close my eyes but only if I’m sure you’ll stay here by me.”

John smiled wider. “I wish we could do that too,” he said. Maybe one day they could.

Sherlock closed his eyes and rested, with John watching him sleep.


	4. In John's Bed (And Then In Sherlock's Bed)

“What time is it?” Sherlock woke up and said suddenly, kind of looking around a bit. “Is it time to order the food?” He felt a little discombobulated, like he had lost a few hours. Then he heard his phone vibrate. He leaned over and found it in his trouser pocket.

_Was going to serve roast beef Saturday. Is that fine? Mum_

_Yes. SH_

He dropped his phone onto the floor and mumbled “Sorry” before snuggling against John again.

“Was it anything important?” John asked softly, shifting to be more comfortable.

“Not in the slightest,” Sherlock said. “But it was my mum and if I hadn’t responded, she would have started calling. Sorry.” He sat up a little and reached for his clothes to get dressed again.

“Don’t go,” John said quickly, moving to sit up. “Let’s order dinner from that place you mentioned.”

“I’m not leaving, I’m just getting dressed,” Sherlock said. “Look, I am seriously considering never leaving, John Watson, so stop worrying.” Once he was dressed, he found the restaurant’s website on his phone and then handed it to John. “Choose whatever you want." 

John took his phone and did a double take. “Sherlock, this is . . I don’t know about this,” he said, looking at the prices.

“John,” Sherlock said, shaking his head. “Please -- I want to. Just get whatever you want.”

John leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” he said. He looked over the menu and showed Sherlock what he wanted.

Sherlock called in and placed the order. “It’ll be about an hour,” he said. “They’ll bring it round.”

“Okay,” John smiled. He put his clothes on and got up to make fresh tea. “What would you like to do while we wait?" 

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said. “Do you want to choose some music or a film or something to have on while we eat?”

“Sure, there’s a whole stack of movies we can pick from when the food comes,” John said from the kitchen.

Sherlock moved over to the shelf and looked at the films. He chose a couple and set them on the coffee table. He stood up and followed John into the kitchen. “Hey,” he said, coming up and giving him a little squeeze.

“Hello,” John grinned, grabbing his arms. He liked Sherlock being here like this, accessible all the time. “Did you pick a movie?”

“One of those,” Sherlock said, motioning to the table. “I don’t really care, to be honest.” He squeezed John again.

“You don’t like movies?” John asked, looking up at him.

“Not really,” Sherlock said. “Sorry.” He smiled. “But I’m willing to be open minded if it means sitting close to you.”

“I don’t want you to be bored,” John said. “But it’ll be nice cuddling.”

“I won’t be bored, John,” Sherlock said. “I know I’ll never be bored with you.” He moved over to the sofa, grabbing the quilt and folding it up.

John smiled out at him as the tea finished, and he brought the mugs out to the sitting room again.

“Thanks,” Sherlock said. He waited for John to sit down. “I’m glad we did that,” he said softly.

“I mean earlier . . . it was good.” He stared into his mug as he took a sip.

“I’m really glad we did it, too. It was sexy and fun,” he smiled, touching Sherlock’s hand for a second before taking a drink.

“I would have never imagined I’d be a part of something described as sexy and fun, but you’re right, it was,” Sherlock said, smiling genuinely. He felt so different around John.

“Do you think you’d like to try more today?” John asked.

“Would you judge me if I said I wanted to try everything immediately?” Sherlock said, laughing a little. “I just . . . I’ve never been interested in any of this, I guess, and now . . . you . . . I just . . . I don’t know. It’s a bit confusing, but I can’t help it. I guess you could say you’ve really piqued my curiosity.” He reached over and pinched John’s thigh lightly.

“I won’t judge you,” John laughed. “We can do whatever you want, try whatever you like.”

Sherlock smiled. “Thanks,” he said quietly. Then there was a knock at the door and Sherlock jumped a little. “It’s probably the food,” he said awkwardly.

“Do you want me to get it? You can set the table,” John said as he stood up.

“The bill’s already been taking care of,” Sherlock said, getting up and moving to the table. He opened one of the cupboards and then wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have done that. But it had plates in it so he took two out and lay them on the table. The wine glasses from last night were still in the dish strainer so he set those on the table as well, standing there awkwardly until John returned. “Smells good,” he said. “I didn’t know where the silverware was,” he added, taking the bag from John. He opened it up and pulled out two candles which he set on the table and lit with the lighter in his pocket. “There,” he said and sat down.

“I’ll get it,” John said, smiling when he saw the table. “Wow Sherlock,” he breathed. He brought the silverware and the wine before sitting down with him. “It smells so good.”

“It does,” Sherlock said. He looked over at John and smiled when he saw him smiling. He put some of his food on his plate and watched as John scooped up his own. “This should all taste good,” he said.

“I’m sure it will,” John said. He dug in with a happy sigh. “This is amazing, Sherlock.”

“I wish . . .” Sherlock looked at John and then reached over and grabbed his hand. “I wish everything was different, John.” All of a sudden, he thought he might cry -- in truth, he’d never felt happier and sadder at the same time in his whole life.

John looked up and squeezed his hand tightly. “I wish they were too,” he said quietly. “We’re going to work it out, okay?”

“All right,” Sherlock said, even though he didn’t really believe they could. He tried to smile and then went back to his food.

John kept holding his hand as they ate, talking to him about the movies on the table to keep his mind off of the situation.

Sherlock decided to change the subject. “Should I put yours in my mouth after dinner?” he said, smiling cheekily.

John coughed and wiped his mouth, looking up at him. “I-yes. I would like that,” he smiled. 

“Please don’t get sick of my inexperience,” Sherlock said. “Or at least let me do stuff so I’m not inexperienced anymore,” he added, raising his eyebrows up and down.

John laughed and shook his head. “I’m not going to get sick of you. You can do whatever you want to me.”

“Hmm . . . that’s quite trusting,” Sherlock said. “I might be a pervert -- did you ever think of that? Perhaps I’m just an inexperienced pervert.”

John grinned. “That’s okay, I’ll let you anyways,” he said.

Sherlock laughed, and they went back to eating and talking normally. It was so hard for Sherlock to believe how easy it was being with John -- he felt so comfortable and he hardly knew him. But he felt like he did. And not just because of what happened on the sofa, though that ensured that he and John knew each other in a special way. Sherlock shook his head a little, instinctively trying to clear it, and stay in the moment of the conversation instead of just analysing it. 

“Are you okay?” John asked, rubbing Sherlock’s hand with his thumb.

“Yeah, sorry,” Sherlock said. “Sometimes I get lost in my head.”

John smiled. “That’s okay,” he said. “Were you thinking about what you want to try?”

“No,” Sherlock said. “I liked how it happened before. I didn’t know it was going to happen . . . I just want to . . . do the things . . . oh my god, I don’t know what I’m saying.” He laughed a little.

John laughed lightly. “You want it to be spontaneous. That’s fun,” he said.

“Are we ever going to get in your bed?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, we can tonight,” John said. “As soon as we’re finished.” He took a few more bites because the food really was so good and then he pushed his plate a bit and laced their fingers together.

“All right,” Sherlock pushed his plate away. “Wait, though, let’s put this stuff in the fridge and you can have the rest for lunch tomorrow or something. So you’ll think about me.” He stood up and starting scooping things back into the containers. 

John smiled and bit his lip. “Yeah, I like that,” he nodded. He got out a bowl and put the rest in the sink to take care of later. 

“Should we go in the bedroom then?” Sherlock said, sliding his arms around John from behind and moving them over his chest.

John pressed back against him and nodded. He covered Sherlock’s hands. “You’re going to drive me crazy,” he smiled. “Let’s go.” John led the way, keeping Sherlock close to him as he walked.

Sherlock followed John in, looking around his room. It was like the rest of the flat -- small and tidy and comfortable. “Take your clothes off,” he said, starting to undo the buttons on John’s shirt.

“So bossy,” John smiled, helping Sherlock by starting with the button on his trousers. “Kiss me please,” he said.

Sherlock kissed John hard as he continued to try to unbutton his shirt. Then he stepped back and pulled the shirt off of him. He turned John and pushed him back on the bed and kind of flopped on him. “This bed’s bouncy,” he said, laughing little. Then he rolled to John’s side and started taking off his own clothes.

John chuckled and watched Sherlock, his eyes moving along his body. “You’re being very sexy again,” he said, palming himself through his pants.

“You’re the one who’s sexy,” Sherlock said softly. He reached over and put his hand over John’s, moving them both over John’s hardening cock. Then he pulled on John’s pants and looked at him for a minute before he started stroking him, like he had done before on himself.

John groaned softly and pushed into his hand, biting his lip. “God Sherlock . . .” he moaned. 

“Do you like it like this? Show me if you want me to do it differently,” Sherlock said. He looked up at John’s face, which was so handsome and sexy as it reacted to Sherlock’s touch. Then he looked down at his hand again, watching what he was doing. 

“It’s perfect,” John moaned. “Please don’t stop.” John’s arousal was propelled by the idea that this was the first time Sherlock was doing this to someone else. For a second he’s imagined Sherlock trying to figure his way out with a woman, and he felt a stab of guilt. He opened his eyes and kissed Sherlock’s hard. Only they mattered now. 

Sherlock leaned down and kissed John back. The feelings . . . well, he wasn’t used to any of them. Not the sexual ones and not the . . . other ones, whatever they were. Intimate. It was all just so intimate. He kept his hand moving as he dropped his mouth to suck on John’s neck.

“You make me feel so good,” John moaned, tilting his head back.

Sherlock shifted his body down John’s. He kept moving his hand, but wanted to be able to press against John somehow -- he too was hard and ached for some relief. He moved his face towards John’s cock and swirled his tongue around the tip. It had a taste and smell -- not bad, but like nothing he’d ever experienced. He kept his grip around the base and sucked a bit inside his mouth. He tried to mimic the movement John had done to him earlier. His hips rocked against John gently without him even realising it.

“Oh! Sherlock,” John called loudly, gripping Sherlock’s hair and trying to keep still and let him do what he wanted.

Sherlock took a bit more of John into his mouth and then lifted his head. He kept stroking as he looked up at John and asked, “Is it okay?”

“F-fantastic Sherlock,” John breathed, petting Sherlock’s hair where his fingers were laced.

Sherlock smiled and moved his mouth back to John, sucking and licking and covering it with his tongue. This was all so good and he wondered if he hadn’t met John that day, if he’d ever have had the chance to know this feeling. That made his heart hurt just a little so he lifted his head and then moved, letting go of John and lying on top of him, trying to get closer to him. He kissed his mouth. “I don’t want to stop,” he said. “I just wanted to kiss you. What else can we do?” he asked. He moved a leg over John’s body and pressed his hips against John’s.

John moaned and rocked his body up against Sherlock’s. “We can have sex, proper sex,” he offered, watching Sherlock’s face.

“We’d need a condom,” Sherlock said.

“I’ve got some, and lube as well.” He reached up and touched Sherlock’s cheek. “We can try just fingers or I can . . . we can do whatever you want,” he murmured.

“God, I don’t know . . .” Sherlock said. “I don’t know -- I want to do all of it. What do you want to do?”

“Anything. Want to try just fingers this first time?” John asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock said smiling. “I want to try everything all the time,” he added smiling. “Will you do it to me?”

“Yeah, I will,” he smiled, stretching to get the lube from the drawer. “Have you ever touched yourself there?”

“No,” Sherlock said. “I’ve done this, but not that,” he added as he reached down and stroked himself.

John smiled and moved between Sherlock’s legs. “Just leave it to me,” he said, pushing his legs back and pouring a bit on his entrance. He touched it lightly, massaging the muscle.

“I’m nervous,” Sherlock said softly. He looked down. “Not nervous enough to stop though,” he said and smiled a little. He kept stroking himself slowly.

John smiled and gently pushed his finger into Sherlock, leaning down to kiss him as he pumped it steadily.

“John,” Sherlock exhaled into the kiss. He moved his hand and wrapped his arms around John, pulling him close. He took a few deep breaths. “It feels unusual,” he said.

“Do you want me to stop?” John asked softly, pausing and nuzzling against his face.

“No,” Sherlock said smiling. “I like it. I like the unusual.” He moved his hips a little with John’s rhythm.

John smiled and kept moving, pushing a second finger in and stroking his prostate lightly as he pumped his hand.

“Fuck,” Sherlock called out loudly. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He reached down between their bodies. “I need to . . .” he tried to say as he reached for himself, starting to stroke again. He leaned up and kissed John’s neck, moaning a bit against the skin.

“Don’t apologise, it’s sexy,” John smiled. He kissed him again as he moved his fingers faster, stroking his prostate every time. “Are you going to come for me?” he murmured.

“Should I?” Sherlock asked. “What about you?” He was so close already.

“This is turning me on . . . I’ll come with you,” John said.

Sherlock closed his eyes and let himself go. His hand moved fast and thought about the sensations -- his hand on his cock, John’s fingers inside, John’s movements against him. “God, John,” he called loudly, his whole body tightening as he came.

John whimpered softly as he watched him, rolling against his leg and coming with him.

Sherlock squeezed John close to him. “I love everything we do,” he said softly as he tried to catch his breath.

John nodded, pulling his fingers out slowly and wrapping his arms around Sherlock. “Me too, Sherlock.”

Sherlock snuggled against John. His body felt exhausted but still good, and he honestly wished he could stay right here forever. And then he remembered the reality of the situation. He squeezed John even harder and tried to make that thought go away.

John rubbed Sherlock’s back and hair as they lay together, closing his eyes and enjoying how close they were. He never wanted to lose this. He didn’t think he could stand it.

“Let’s stay here a while,” Sherlock said, almost whispering. “Are you comfortable?”  
  
”Very much, don’t move away,” John said. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and slowly moved a hand up on John’s back. John was the definition of comfort -- yet he also filled Sherlock with such desire that he’d never known. Why did they meet? Why did this happen? Sherlock didn’t want to think about it, but it was hard not to.

There was something about Sherlock that was making John feel so much. He knew it was early -- too soon to be feeling things like this, but he couldn’t help it.

Sherlock dozed a little, not really sleeping, just feeling so relaxed and comfortable. After a little while, he shifted himself a little, moving John to his side. He reached up and stroked John’s cheek. “I don’t ever want to leave,” he whispered.

John gazed at him and bit his lip. “Maybe you don’t have to,” he said softly.

“John,” Sherlock said, stroking his face again and slipping his hand into his hair. “You know I can’t . . . change what’s going to happen.”

“Just -- just stay with me,” John whispered, holding his gaze.

“John, I can’t,” Sherlock said. He closed his eyes and turned his head a bit towards the pillow. “I can’t leave everything . . .”

John bit his lip and leaned in to kiss his forehead. “It’s okay, Sherlock. I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“I’ll try to think of something, John, so we can see each other,” Sherlock said. “But the rest . . . it’s bigger than me.”

John nodded. “It’s okay Sherlock. We’ll figure it out,” he said.

“I’ll try to think,” Sherlock said. But he didn’t want to think -- he just wanted to stay here. But he knew he couldn’t. “What time is it?” he said sadly. “I have to go back tonight.”

“Oh, um . . .” John turned to look at the alarm clock. “It’s almost nine. When can I see you again?”

Sherlock pulled John to him again. “I’ll go soon but not immediately,” he said, giving him a kiss. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow would be perfect,” John said. “I only work until four so anytime after that.”

“Good,” Sherlock said. “Can we do more . . . you know, tomorrow?”  
  
”Yeah,” John smiled. “You think about what you want and tell me tomorrow, okay?”

“All right,” Sherlock said. “But you think too -- you know more.” He smiled and gave him another kiss before sitting up to find his clothes. “Cup of tea before I leave?” he asked as he started to get dressed.

“Of course,” John smiled. He sat up and pulled on his dressing gown before getting up and moving to the kitchen to start the kettle.

Sherlock finished dressing and checked himself in John’s mirror. He wondered if he looked different now, now that he’d done these things with John. He didn’t think he did. But he felt different. He followed John into the kitchen.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” John asked.

“Not really,” Sherlock said. He felt stupid. “I should find something more to do with my time, I guess.”

“They don’t need you for any plans or anything?” John asked, handing him a mug.

“They’re not interested in my opinions, even if I had them, which I don’t,” Sherlock said. “Business, remember?” He took a sip of tea. 

“I remember,” he nodded. “I already can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

“I kind of feel like going straight to bed and sleeping until 3.30 so I don’t have to face anything else before I come back,” Sherlock said. “I’m sorry -- I feel like I sound stupid, it’s just . . . this is all new to me. And I like it all.”

“You don’t sound stupid,” John assured him. “I promise,” he smiled.

“I sometimes feel it, I guess,” Sherlock said. “But I don’t care, I suppose. I’m glad for everything you’ve shown me . . . for you.” He leaned over and gave him a little kiss.

John smiled wider. “I’m glad for you, too,” he said.

Sherlock finished his tea. He looked around for his coat and then put it on. He went over to the table and took one of the candles. “I’m going to take this home and light it to remind me, okay?” he said.

“Yes,” John nodded. “That’s a great idea, Sherlock.”

Sherlock leaned in and gave John one more kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Text me if anything changes,” he said as he left.

He took a taxi home and walked into the house. There was a part of him that thought if someone were to come up right now and ask him where he’d been, he’d tell them the whole truth. But no one did. He could hear his parents talking in another room, but he didn’t go see them. Instead he went up the bathroom to get ready for bed and went into his own room, locking the door. He lit the candle and set it on his desk.

John finished his tea, grabbed the quilt, and went straight to bed again. The sheets smelled like Sherlock and so did the quilt and John inhaled deeply, missing him already. It was unfair that they had met like this. It he wouldn’t give it up for anything.

Sherlock sat up reading for a bit and then he blew out the candle and turned off the light. He lay there for a while thinking of what they had done earlier and things they could do tomorrow. He got out his phone.

_I’m thinking about you. SH_

John heard his phone and reached down into his trouser pocket for it, smiling at Sherlock’s message. 

_I am thinking about you, too. Everything smells like you and I never want to wash it. -JW_

_I want to have sex tomorrow. The whole thing. Okay? SH_

Sherlock felt his face flush, but he hit send anyways. John was the only person he’d ever met who made him feel like he could just be honest about everything.

_The whole thing. We can do that. Which way do you want to? -JW_

Sherlock thought about it. To be honest, he wanted to try everything. Then he thought about earlier.

_Like tonight but you know -- the whole thing. SH_

_I understood. I just meant think about if you want to top or me. -JW_

_I know. I meant I want you to do what you did tonight except not with fingers. SH_

_Oh, yes, okay. -JW_

_Good. Will it hurt? I don’t care if it does. SH_

_It might a bit at first, but I promise it’ll feel good. -JW_

_What you did earlier felt good. I wish I could feel it right now. SH_

_You can with your fingers. I’ll talk you through it. -JW_

Sherlock thought about that. It seemed like it would be weird, but before two days ago, a lot of the stuff he and John had already done had seemed weird to him. And even though it did seem weird, he was also curious and he recognised the feeling that was already starting to build low in his belly. He got up out of bed to make sure that his door was locked. It was. He slid back into bed.

_Okay. I’ll try. SH_

_Do you have lube at your place? -JW_

_Of course not. SH_

_Use saliva. Pretend it's my mouth, sucking your fingers the way I sucked your cock. -JW_

John looked at the words and bit his lip nervously. He sent it and held the phone close to his chest. 

Sherlock set the phone on his chest. He put a finger in his mouth and felt stupid. Then he closed his eyes and remembered what John had done to him on the sofa. And then what he’d done to John on the bed. He tried to move his mouth over his fingers like he’d done with John’s cock. As long as he kept his eyes closed, he could imagine it and wasn’t thinking about feeling stupid. But he had to open his eyes to write the text.   
  
_Okay. Now do I just do it? SH_

_Slowly, one finger at a time. I’m getting hot thinking about you doing it. -JW_

_Are you going to do it? SH_

Sherlock moved his hand to his cock first. It was already hard just from what he’d been thinking of. He stroked it a few times and then imagined John stroking his own cock and then John stroking his. He realised his fingers weren’t wet anymore. He slipped them back in his mouth and then slid his hands between his legs. He pressed one against himself. He felt a little tender. He moved it slowly in, and it did feel like it had with John -- except not quite as good since John wasn’t here. He held himself with his other hand, rubbing his cock as he tried to move his finger a bit further in.

_I will do something similar. I have a toy. -JW_

John bit his lip and hovered his hand over the call button. He wondered if it would be easier if they were talking together. 

_Can I call you? -JW_

Sherlock picked up his phone and read the texts. He tried to imagine what kind of toy John had and wondered if he’d ever use it on Sherlock.

_Yes. SH_

He put his phone on silent and held it in one hand, the other one stroking his cock.

John pressed the call button and waited for Sherlock to answer, biting his lip nervously.

Sherlock quickly pressed the button and whispered, “It’s me.”

“I know,” John said back, smiling wide. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I wish you were here,” Sherlock said. His hand was still moving on his cock, and hearing John’s voice made it speed up a bit.

“I wish I was there too -- or that we were both here again,” John said. “I want to touch you again.”

“I want you to . . .” Sherlock said, his voice becoming a soft moan. “I did the finger thing -- it wasn’t as good as you.”  
  
”I know it's different, but curve them and touch your prostate. Remember when I rubbed that spot?” John said. His toy lay forgotten on the bed beside him -- he was focused on getting Sherlock off now. 

Sherlock switched the phone to his other hand. He spat on his fingers and wiggled them a bit before moving them between his legs again. He pressed a fingertip in slowly and tried to find the spot John was talking about. Then he found it. A small noise escaped from his mouth. “John,” he moaned softly.

“That’s right, love. Pump your fingers . . . remember how I did it,” John moaned quietly. He was clutching the phone and palming himself harder, listening to Sherlock’s heavy breathing and soft moans. 

Sherlock’s breath changed as his finger moved more, deeper. He squeezed the phone between his ear and the pillow so he could stroke his cock with his other hand. “John, I want it to be you,” he moaned again. “Please . . .” He squeeze his eyes shut, imagining it was John.

“I want it to be me too,” John said. “I want it to be you.” John slid his hand into his pajamas and started stroking himself properly. 

Sherlock wanted to moan loudly, wanted to call out John’s name, but he knew he couldn’t. He kept moving both hands, touching his prostate a few times, until he couldn’t take anymore. “God, John,” he breathed into the phone as he came, spilling over his hand and tightening around his finger.

John squeezed his eyes shut and imagined Sherlock’s face, imagining the sounds he would make if he was here and there was no one else around. His hand moved faster and faster, he swiped over his tip and suddenly he was coming into his own hand. He moaned Sherlock’s name, wishing he was here even more so he could curl up against him.

Sherlock caught his breath and then whispered into the phone, “John, you’ve turned me into a sex maniac.” He hoped John would know he was smiling.

“I didn't even need the toy -- your sounds were enough,” John smiled back. He sighed softly and shifted, holding the phone closer. “I miss you,” he said.

Sherlock wiped his hand on the sheet and rolled onto his back. “Are you going to use a toy on me?” he asked quietly.

“No,” John said softly. “It’ll just be me and you the first time.”

“Okay,” Sherlock said. “But one time will you? I want to try everything, John.”

“One day we will, yeah,” John agreed. 

Sherlock yawned a little and snuggled down in the bed. “I wish I was marrying you,” he mumbled quietly.

John’s eyes snapped up but there was nothing to see except his bedroom wall. “Sherlock . . .” he said softly, not knowing what else to say. He wished that Sherlock wasn’t getting married to a stranger, that they could keep dating and they could live together and be happy. But he couldn’t say that again because Sherlock couldn’t get out of it and it would only make him sad. “Me too,” he added simply, closing his eyes and imagining the life they could have together if Sherlock could run away. 

“I know we haven’t known each other long, but I barely know her,” Sherlock said. “It’s not fair.” He knew he was pouting -- what his mother called his ‘childish behaviour’. But he couldn’t help it; his parents had kept him a child and now for once with John, he was seeing what adult things were like and that’s what he wanted. To be an adult who could make his own choices.

“I know it's not fair,” John said. He squeezed the phone and opened his eyes again. “We are going to figure something out, okay?” He couldn’t help saying that, assuring Sherlock and himself that this was going to work out somehow. But he was ignoring the little voice in his head that kept trying to remind him that unless Sherlock ditched his family and ran off there was no way this was going to turn out well for them. He hoped if he said it enough times it might actually come true. 

“I hope so, John,” Sherlock said. “I need to go sleep now. I wish you were here. I liked sleeping by you earlier. I wish you could sleep next to me every night.”

“Stay on the phone with me until you fall asleep,” John said quietly, pulling his covers up and settling in more comfortably. “I’ll hang up after you fall asleep.”

Sherlock shifted his arm to drape across the other pillow, trying to convince himself that John was really there. “Good night, John,” he mumbled. His eyes were closed and his breathing began to slow.

“Good night, Sherlock.” John kept the phone between his ear and the pillow as he listened to Sherlock’s breathing slow and deepen. He forced himself to hang up the call. He set his alarm and kept his phone close as he drifted off himself.

Sherlock woke up in the middle of the night. His face was pressed against his phone which he drooled a bit on. He wiped it off and set it on the nightstand. He rolled over again, thinking of John until he fell back to sleep.


	5. Virginity's End

In the morning John sent Sherlock a good morning text before getting into the shower. Now that the end of his day came with seeing Sherlock, he couldn’t wait to get the day over with. He hardly had any breakfast in his haste to get to the office, hoping if he started early enough he could get out early as well. 

Sherlock rolled over when he heard his phone vibrate.

_I’m still sleeping and pretending we're together. SH_

He held the phone on his chest as if it made John closer somehow.

_Only a few more hours and we will be for real. -JW_

_Should I bring anything? SH_

_Only yourself. -JW_

Sherlock smiled.

_All right. Go back to work. I’ll see you in a few hours. SH_

John smiled and did just that, taking break just long enough to eat a sandwich before starting up again. His persistence saved him two hours.

_I’m getting out early. Come by as soon as you’re ready. -JW_

John hurried out before Sarah saw him -- not because he was hiding from her, but she would ask questions and no one could know about him and Sherlock with the Holmes family being so public. He took a cab home and started cooking dinner. He was starving and knew he’d need the energy for later.

Sherlock had stayed in bed a little longer and then got up. His body was a bit sore, so he took a long bath. While he was in the hot water, he wondered if he and John would ever take a bath together. They both would fit in this one. Then he realised he was starting to get an erection, so he tried to focus -- he washed his hair and then got out and got dressed. He went downstairs for a cup of tea. He didn’t see anyone so when he got John’s text, he headed over without telling anyone he was going out.

John set two plates and wondered if Sherlock would like to eat with him. He went to his room and changed the sheets to clean ones, making sure the toy was safely put away. He was just starting the kettle when he heard the door. “Hello,” John smiled when he pulled it open.

“Hello,” Sherlock pushing in and putting his arms around John. He gave him a quick kiss and then squeezed him, just feeling good being close.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and squeezed him back. “I missed you,” he said quietly.

“I missed you,” Sherlock said. “And I didn’t have lots of sick people to distract me, like you did.”

He pressed his hips against John. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m a sex addict now, I think.”

“They were a poor distraction, I promise,” John smiled. “And while I share your enthusiasm I’ve hardly eaten all day and was hoping that you’d have dinner with me.”

“Okay,” Sherlock said. He didn’t really feel hungry but he sat down anyway. “Anything exciting happen at work?” he asked, fiddling a bit with his fork.

“You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to -- it’s just spaghetti,” John said. He sat down and dug in happily. “Nothing happened at work today. I couldn’t wait to come home,” he smiled.

“I’ll have a little,” Sherlock said. “I couldn’t wait to come over,” he added.

“Did you do anything today?” John asked, smiling over at him as he ate.

“Um, no, not really,” Sherlock said. “In truth, John, I don’t really do much. If I’ve got an experiment I’m working on, then I spend all my time on that. If I don’t . . . well, I guess I just read or sleep. There’s not a lot going on in that house most days. And the recent activity . . . well, that’s got little to actually do with me really. So today I took a bath and just stayed out of the way until I could come see you.”

“If I didn’t have work I would be doing a lot of nothing as well,” John smiled.

“That’s not true. You have friends, you do things. You go out, you watch movies,” he said, waving his hand towards John’s shelves. “You work and you do things and you . . . you have a life, you live. I . . . don’t. It’s always been true, I guess I can just see it now.” He looked down at his food, a bit embarrassed.

“Sherlock, please don’t be sad. It’s okay to only have a couple interests instead of many,” John assured him.

“Don’t pretend we aren’t different,” Sherlock said softly. “It’s just all of a sudden I can see -- it seems like I have everything . . . but really I have nothing.”

“Being different isn’t a bad thing either, love.” John reached out and took his hand, wishing he could tell him that money wasn’t everything and he could give Sherlock a good life here. But they’d talked about that so much already, and it only forced them to remember their situation was far from ideal. “I really like you a lot, Sherlock, even if you don’t do anything all day,” he smiled.

Sherlock squeezed John’s hand. “You’ve just shown me there’s so much more, John . . .” he mumbled.

John smiled softly. “I can show you so much more,” he said.

“I just worry once I see it, I’ll miss it when it’s gone,” Sherlock said.

“I know, love, but maybe we’ll figure something out and you won’t have to miss it,” he said.

“Maybe,” Sherlock said, even though he couldn’t imagine how they’d figure something out. John didn’t seem to grasp the power his family had -- not just in the community but over him. “All right, let’s talk about something else now.” He tried to make a smile.

“Something else like what we’re going to be doing later?” John smiled, stroking his hand now.

“Yes, when you do sex to me,” Sherlock said. 

“To each other,” John smiled.

“Right,” Sherlock said. “Is that going to be happening soon, do you think?” he asked, raising his eyebrows up and down.

“Yes, just as soon as I finish up,” John laughed.

“You’ll need time for digestion,” Sherlock said. “Please don’t let me eagerness upset your stomach. We have lots of time.”

“We do,” John agreed. “I’ll need my energy,” he smiled.

“We can take naps to recuperate,” Sherlock said, laughing a little.

John laughed with him, pushing his plate away. He didn’t want to overdo it and feel too bloated. He wanted this to be perfect for Sherlock. “That’s very true. Good thinking,” he said.

“I need the bathroom first, I think,” Sherlock said. He walked in and used the toilet and then washed his hands. He looked at his face in the mirror, fiddling a bit with his hair. Then he leaned over the sink, scooping some water into his hand to rinse his mouth. He dried his hands and face and then looked at himself in the mirror again. He took a few deep breaths and came back out.

“Feel better?” John asked, having cleared the table while Sherlock was gone.

“I’m not nervous,” Sherlock said, too quickly. “Well, a little bit, I guess -- just because it’s new. I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Okay good,” John smiled. “I promise it’s going to be good,” he added, even though he too was nervous. It was a lot of pressure making sure someone’s first time was good, and he hoped he wouldn’t put Sherlock off of it or him.

“Shush up,” Sherlock said, going over and sitting down practically on top of him. “I’m not worried about it not being good. I just don’t want to seem . . . stupid compared to . . . you know, others.” He nuzzled John’s neck.

“Oh Sherlock, you won’t,” John assured him.

“Well, we’ll see,” Sherlock said. “Are we going kiss now?”

“Yes,” John said, leaning in and kissing him a bit harder than he meant to.

Sherlock pushed back into the kiss. “Uh-oh,” he said. “Looks like you mean business.” His hand slid around John’s shoulders and his fingertips tickled the back of John’s neck. He leaned in and kissed him again.

John chuckled and kissed him back, lacing his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and tugging lightly as they kissed.

Sherlock shifted his body so he was kneeling on the sofa, straddling John. He ran his fingers up into John’s hair and tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

John gripped Sherlock’s hips before sliding up and down his back. “God, I want you so much,” he said softly.

Sherlock felt so good -- it wasn’t just the physical feelings, it was everything. It was all just . . . good with John. His mouth covered John’s face with kisses, moving to suck on his earlobe before dropping to nip at the skin on his neck. He could hear small noises escaping his throat, but he didn’t care, he didn’t feel stupid. He just wanted this.

“You are good at this,” John moaned, pressing flush against him.

“I learned everything I know from the sexiest person on the planet,” Sherlock said. He pressed himself against John. “Can we go into the bedroom?” he whispered.

“Yes, let’s go,” he said. “I need to see you and touch you.”

Sherlock moved off of John but grabbed onto him as they walked to his room. He remembered being in his own room and feeling like he couldn’t bear being away from John -- now that he was here again, he didn’t want there to be one moment when they weren’t touching.

John shut the door and gently pushed Sherlock onto the bed, climbing on top of him and kissing his mouth as he worked to peel away clothes.

Sherlock let himself sink into the bed and then reached down to help get his clothes off. “Are you going to do the finger thing also?” he asked eagerly.

John nodded, "It'll make it easier for my cock after so it doesn't hurt." He dipped to kiss at his neck and suck the skin lightly. He didn't want to leave visible marks and make things hard for Sherlock.

There was something about John saying the word cock that made Sherlock's own cock jerk a little. He moved both his hands to start unbuttoning John's jeans.

John sat up on his knees to let him, watching hungrily. The second he was able to shift to get free he grabbed the lube and the condoms, kissing Sherlock again and reaching down to stroke him slowly.

"Oh god, John," Sherlock said. "Your hand feels so good . . . it just . . . I love when you're touching me."

"I love touching you -- and when you touch me," he murmured. "You keep this up while I open you, okay?" He guided Sherlock's hand to his own cock and then he was pouring lube onto Sherlock's hole and gently pushing a finger inside.

Sherlock started to stroke himself and then felt John's finger. It was a million times better than what he'd done to himself last night. "John," he moaned. He tried to lift his head to find John's mouth for a kiss.

John came up and kissed his mouth, pumping his finger in and out until it moved easily. He added a second one, stretching them, stroking his prostate between working at the tight muscle.

"That's good, that feels good," Sherlock said. He felt like there was a million words in his head but he could barely say anything. "Please . . ."

"Almost, love. I don't want to hurt you." He added a bit more lube and then a third finger. He rolled on a condom and added more lube there. "Ready?" he asked softly, leaning up to kiss Sherlock again.

Sherlock looked up at John. "What should I do . . . when you put it in? I want you to feel good too," he said through heavy breaths.

"I will, don't worry," John said. "We will feel good together." And gently he pushed into Sherlock, doing so very slowly so Sherlock could adjust to the feeling.

Sherlock took a sharp inhale and then realised he needed to relax his body. "Go slow," he said softly, even though John was. "It . . . John. . .it's . . . " he closed his eyes and pushed his head back onto the pillow.

"Are you okay?" John whispered. Sherlock's tight heat surrounded him fully, and it was torture to stay still but he did, waiting for Sherlock.

Sherlock's body was adjusting to John being inside him. He opened his eyes. God, it was John and Sherlock wanted to tell him how close he felt. He looked up at John and reached for him. "It doesn't hurt . . . it's good . . . it's good, John," he said softly.

John kissed his mouth softly before he started moving his hips, setting a steady rhythm as he continued to peck kisses on his lips between breathless moans and whimpers. It felt incredible -- not just physically but emotionally and mentally. Sherlock was everything.

John's movement produced an even more intense feeling in Sherlock's body. He slid his hand between them and held his cock. He couldn't believe everything that was happening -- it was fogging his brain a little -- like this was the only thing in the world that was happening or had ever happened to Sherlock. He started to slowly stroke himself to match John's rhythm.

"M'close," John gasped softly, pushing deep into Sherlock's body. "I want to come with you," he moaned.

The words John said excited Sherlock even more. "John," he moaned. "I love . . . this. . . I'm going to . . . I can't breathe right." He could hear his voice, and he knew he wasn't making any sense at all. His hand moved faster, and he squeezed shut his eyes and he actually couldn't breath -- he couldn't see or think or breathe because he was coming and the orgasm filled his entire body and for a moment he wasn't even there anymore.

John felt Sherlock spilling between them, squeezing around him, and he was following him with a loud groan. He pushed into his body and shuddered over him, moaning his name over and over before collapsing over him, not caring about the mess, trying to breathe properly. It was so hard at the moment.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John. "I love you, I love this," he exhaled into John's shoulder.

John pressed against Sherlock and didn't know what to say. He knew how he felt -- he loved Sherlock, too -- but saying it would make things so much harder. "Can you sleep with me tonight?" he asked softly, knowing that could hurt just as much.

"Let me," Sherlock said. "Let me stay, please." He was still squeezing John tightly. In a weird way, he almost felt like he didn't want to let go, that the minute he let go something horrible would happen. That didn't make any sense though, Sherlock knew that. He loosened his grip a little and tried to relax himself a bit. He looked up at the ceiling and then all of a sudden, he said, "I can't -- I can't stay the night." He closed his eyes again. "I'm sorry."

"Please, Sherlock," John begged.

"I can't, John," Sherlock said, turning and curling into him. "You know I can't." He buried his face in John's chest. "I don't have to leave right away or anything, but I'll have to go back at some point."

"I know," John said quietly, wrapping his arms around Sherlock to hold him closer. "I know. I'm sorry. . . "

"Let's not ruin this," Sherlock said, looking up at him. They were quiet for a moment as both of their breaths returned to normal.

Then Sherlock said, "I liked what we did. I want to be able to do it again." He gave him a soft kiss on the mouth.

"Okay," John nodded. "I liked it too, and we can do it again. Different ways and everything," he added.

"Do you have lots of toys?" Sherlock asked, thinking about what John had said last night.

"Just a dildo that vibrates."

Sherlock imagined John doing that to himself , and it seemed pretty sexy. Then he thought about John doing it to him, and that seemed sexy as well. He felt kind of amazed that John knew all these things, but then he realised that what was really surprising is that Sherlock _didn't_ know any of these things. He thought about his life and all the things he'd missed. Then he shook his head a little to clear it and kissed John again. "I like you," he mumbled against the kiss.

"I like you, too," John said quietly. He met Sherlock's gaze and bit his lip. "Did you mean what you said during . . . you know . . ."

"What did I say?"

"That . . . that you love me," John said quietly.

"I don't know what love is, John," Sherlock said, not really remembering the words he'd use before. "Love exists in your world, not mine. I don't know what this feeling is." He swallowed and turned his body a bit, staring up at the ceiling. "I know that I think of you all the time. That I wish we could be together all the time. That there's literally nothing in the world I want more than to stay here, to be close to you -- the sex stuff but also just . . . being with you. I mean all those things, John -- aren't they enough?"

"That's what love feels like," John whispered. He swallowed hard and turned on his back as well and stared at the ceiling. Sherlock hadn't meant to say it because he was getting married and he was smart enough to know it would be too hard. But he had said. He'd said _I love you_.

Sherlock heard what John whispered, but decided to pretend he hadn't. If that was true, if what Sherlock felt was love, then he knew that eventually when this ended, his heart would break. He couldn't think about that now. He couldn't.

Sherlock turned on his side towards John. "Can I see the toy?" he asked.

John flushed lightly and nodded. He got up and went to the drawer where he kept it, bringing it back to the bed. It was dark blue silicone, a realistic replica. "The end twists to vibrate," he explained.

Sherlock looked at it -- he couldn't help but imagine John using it. "You use this by yourself," he said but it wasn't really a question. "I don't know . . . maybe. Maybe I would use something like this if I was at home by myself . . . but I'd rather it be you. It doesn't seem like it'd be the same." He set it down on the bed.

"It's not the same but it feels good," John said. He moved it under the pillow so it wasn't just lying between them.

"What else are you going to do to me, Doctor John Watson?" Sherlock asked, placing his hand on John's chest and then trailing his fingers to his belly button.

"Anything you want," John said, his belly twitching lightly under his hands.

"Something perverted," Sherlock said, smiling. His hand moved down to John's soft cock, just holding it lightly.

"Hmm, my specialty," John teased softly, glancing down to Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock looked down at his hand and then up at John's face. "Are you going to make it big again?" he said, smiling cheekily.

"That depends on you, I think," John grinned.

Sherlock tightened his fingers around John a bit and moved his hand slightly. "Yours is bigger than the blue thing," he said, watching his hand moving on John's cock. "Yours is better. I mean I know I'm not an expert, but yours is the best one ever, I think."

John flushed he hid his face in his arm for a moment, embarrassed at how casually Sherlock talked about it. "I'm glad you think so," he said.

Sherlock shifted himself a bit so he was almost lying on top of John while still giving him enough room to move his hand freely. "I want some more of you," he mumbled and then began sucking on John's neck. He recognised the taste there now.

"I want more of you too," John said, shifting to gaze up at Sherlock. "Will you . . . do you want to do it to me?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "Don't get angry -- I do want to try it, but I . . . like when you do it."

John swallowed hard and nodded. "That's okay, Sherlock," he murmured. He leaned up and kissed him, pushing his hips into his hand.

Sherlock moved fully on top of John and began rolling his hips against him. He looked down at him and imagined putting it inside of him. It did seem pretty sexy, but Sherlock wondered if it was too much like what he'd have to do with the woman. What John did to him . . . that would always belong to them alone.

"Hold both of us and stroke and we'll rub together," John suggested, rolling up against him for friction.

Sherlock reached down and wrapped his hand around both their cocks. He started rocking. It felt good like this. He leaned down and kissed John's mouth hungrily.

John moaned and kissed back, wrapping his arms around Sherlock and letting him lead, letting him bring them both off.

Sherlock moved even more -- he could feel himself getting close to orgasm. "Can I put the toy in you?" he moaned softly.

John, resigned to enjoying Sherlock's hand like this, gasped at the sudden question and nodded. "Um, if you want to."

"I want to try," Sherlock said. He moved down John's body. He licked John's cock up and down and then slid further, moving between John's legs. "What do I do?"

"You need the lube -- open me with your fingers," John said. "They same way I did with you, slowly."

"Where's the lube?" Sherlock asked. He waited for John to reach and get it. He suddenly felt nervous. He poured some in his hand and moved it around his fingers. "Feels weird," he said. He reached down and started touching everywhere between John's legs. He looked down and then up at John's face. "Okay?" he asked, leaning over and putting a kiss on John's cock.

"It feels good, Sherlock," John assured him, petting his hair.

Sherlock let his fingers drift down to John's hole. He pressed one against it. The muscle was tight. "I don't want to hurt you," he said, moving his finger over it. He pressed again and the tip slowly pushed inside. He looked up at John. "I did it," he said stupidly.

"You won't hurt me, love. Just go slow, just like that," John murmured.

Sherlock pushed a little further, stretching past the ring of muscle. Then it seemed a little easier. He moved it back before pushing in again. All of a sudden he thought about what he was doing -- another kind of new intimacy. He leaned down and kissed John's cock again as he started to feel more confident, moving his finger slowly but steadily.

"That's so good, Sherlock. Perfect," John moaned. It was so good to share this with Sherlock.

Sherlock leaned himself up and kissed John's mouth. "I like it," he whispered. "Do I put another one in?" He kind of rested his head on John's chest.

John nodded. "Then spread them a bit and if you curve them you'll hit my prostate," he said, finding it a little hard to focus on giving a lesson while Sherlock was making him feel so good.

Sherlock followed John's guidance. He watched the way John's body reacted, and it was all so sexy. He moved his other hand to his own cock and stroked it in the same rhythm as he was moving his fingers. "God, John," he moaned softly.

"You're doing so good . . .it's so good," John moaned. He was leaking onto his belly, trying to keep still. "Soon -- do it soon . . ."

Sherlock thought about reaching for the toy and then thought about just putting his cock in instead. He moved his hands faster and closed his eyes imagining those things again and then suddenly he was coming. He moaned loudly, dropping his head.

"Please," John gasped, his eyes shut as he imagined Sherlock filling him. He needed it, was waiting for it. He scrambled for the toy and pushed it down towards Sherlock. "Please . . . "

Sherlock pulled out his fingers and grabbed the toy. He smeared some lube on it and pressed it up to John's hole, slowly sliding it in. He started moving it like had moved his fingers. He reached up and started stroking John's cock as well. He hadn't even caught his breath yet.

John squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the bed. It didn't take long. Sherlock had hardly set a pace before he was coming into his own belly, moaning Sherlock's name loudly.

Sherlock pulled the toy slowly from John. He dropped down next to him. "Wow, John," he said softly. He moved his hand to John's belly, trailing his finger through John's wetness. "That was pretty sexy."

"Thank you," John said quietly, turning his head to gaze at Sherlock as he got his senses together.

"John," Sherlock said. "John Watson." He smiled. "What's your middle name?"

"That you will never know," John grinned. He leaned in and kissed Sherlock's mouth softly before putting the toy on his bedside table. He'd clean it off later.

"I'll figure it out, don't worry," Sherlock said. "Are you done with me now? Are you bored of me?" He pulled on John's arm moving him closer. 

"Of course not," John smiled. "I'll never be bored of you."

"Good," Sherlock said. "Let's cuddle for a little before I go."

John curled against him this time, putting his head on Sherlock's chest and draping an arm across his belly. "Let's freeze time," he said.

"I wish we could," Sherlock said. "But I'll see you tomorrow." He put a kiss on John's forehead. "Wait, what's tomorrow? Saturday? I have to see her tomorrow," he said softly.

"Oh," John said, forgetting to hide his disappointment. He knew she existed, of course, but he hoped she wouldn't be an issue until the wedding itself. "Okay. Well, don't be . . . not bored with her, okay?" He kissed Sherlock softly.

"Don't be stupid," Sherlock said, wrapping his arm around John. "Every human being on the planet bores me except you. Besides, it's not even a date -- her family's coming to see mine, you know, about arrangements and stuff. I don't even know if I'll speak to her."

"Of course you will because she's your guest," John said. "Just text me after, okay? Let me know how it all goes."

"I will be thinking of you the whole time. Obviously, I'll text you the minute it's all over," Sherlock said, kissing John before he sat up to find his clothes. "I don't want to leave," he added even as he started to get dressed.

"I know," John said as he sat up as well. "But I know that you have to. I will see you soon again. Maybe Sunday?"

"Definitely," Sherlock said. He checked himself in the mirror and then turned to look at John. "I'll be thinking about what we did. My body's a little sore but I kind of like it. It'll be a reminder tomorrow. It'll remind what really matters." He made a little smile even though he suddenly felt a little sad. He didn't want to go. But he knew he had to.

John put his robe on and leaned up to kiss Sherlock. "I'm going to be thinking about you as well," he said. He walked with Sherlock to the door, the words in his head sticking in his throat. _I love you._ "I'll see you soon, yeah?

Sherlock leaned over and gave John a kiss. Then he took out his phone and quickly took John's picture. "I need to be able to see your face when I'm alone," he said. He gave him another kiss. "I'll see you soon," he added before turning to leave.

"You could have warned me," John teased, watching him go. Maybe he would send Sherlock a couple more tomorrow so he didn't feel so alone at his dinner. Of course there would also be a beautiful woman there beside Sherlock. A beautiful woman who would soon be Sherlock's wife. John sighed. What had he expected to happen when he started this? He knew about this woman from the very first day and yet he made the challenge himself -- to show Sherlock something different. He realised a small part of him had hoped Sherlock would romantically run off with him. Of course he also hadn’t expected to form such deep feeling for him so quickly. Now they would both suffer.

He shut the door and went back to his room, cleaning his toy before getting into bed, wanting to hide away from everything.

When Sherlock got back to the house, his mother called him into the kitchen. "Tomorrow's the big day," she said smiling. "Well, not the 'big' day but an important day. Do you know what I mean, Sherlock?"

"Yes," he said. His hand was in his pocket, gripping his phone, as if it was a connection to John. "I know you're telling me to act appropriately."  
  
"And are you going to?" she asked.

"Of course," he said. "I won't let you down."  
  
She came over and gave him an awkward hug. "My boys never do," she said. "Thank you." She stepped back. "What have you been doing? You smell . . . sweaty."

"Just walking around mostly," he said, moving away from her. "I'm working on a new experiment -- I was out doing some research and thinking. Walking around and thinking." He worried he sounded too defensive.

"You and your projects," she said. "Well, finish it up, yeah? Soon you won't have time for experiments. You'll have a new project to focus on. Your family -- your wife and maybe some children," she added hopefully.

"I'm going upstairs," he said. He turned and went to his room. He got some pajamas and took a quick shower before climbing into bed. He grabbed his phone, looking at John's picture. He wished John were here with him now.

_Good night, John. I miss you. SH_

_Good night, Sherlock. I miss you, too. -JW_

John kept the phone close. Usually he had the distraction of work but tomorrow he would be home all day, alone and thinking about Sherlock at his dinner. He was dreading it.


	6. The Cruel Brother

When Sherlock got up, he sent John a quick text and then put this phone in his desk drawer. He couldn't be texting John during this visit, he knew that. Besides, he decided that he'd approach today like an airplane flight -- a few hours of being uncomfortable and without the normal things in his life. Once it was over, it was over, and he go back to the real world, _his_ real world. With John.

He was dressed and looking smart ("impressive" was the word his mother used) by the time he needed to be downstairs and ready to go on show. His mother had told him that the parents would do most of the talking -- if anything was brought up that Sherlock objected to, he should make a note of it and speak to her about it once they were alone. He was to sit next to the woman (his mother reminded him that her name was Emma) and try to get to know her. But more important than getting to know her was being, or at least appearing to be, friendly and interested.

And that is precisely what Sherlock did. He was polite and respectful to her parents. He helped Emma off with her coat, led her to her seat, got her a drink. He asked her some questions and tried very hard to listen to the answers. He smiled when he thought she was making a joke, he nodded at whatever her father said at dinner. He did precisely as he'd been told to do. 

She wasn't very interesting though. Not to Sherlock. She wasn't horrible, in fact he guessed that as normal people went, she probably was one of the better ones. But she wasn't the one for Sherlock. She'd never understand why Sherlock did the things he did, thought the way he thought, just was the way he was. She'd never understand those things and she would also probably hate them all. As selfish as Sherlock was, he knew this marriage would lead to two unhappy people, not just him, and that made it even worse.

When John woke up in the morning, he reached for his phone, almost dead since he had slept with it half under his pillow. He sent Sherlock a good morning back and plugged it in by the bedside. He sat up and looked over at the empty side of the bed again with a small sigh. He wondered how hard it was going to be on the day of the wedding itself, but he tried not to think about that right now. It was hard not to, but it was necessary. He took a shower and made some breakfast, and those distractions only took him two hours into the day. He needed to do something or he was going to go crazy.

John went back up to his room and changed, checking his phone after each piece of clothing he put on. That was going to drive him crazy as well so when he left for his walk, he didn't bring his phone with him. He did however pass right in front of Sherlock's house, wondering what would happen if he just burst in and declared his love. It would be dramatic and crazy, and it would surely get Sherlock in trouble. He walked away and headed to the park, sitting at their bench with a sigh. He was bored and he missed Sherlock and he couldn't stop thinking about the dinner. And now the wedding. He got up and started walking again. 

The dinner was over. Once their guests had gone, Sherlock's mum gave him a kiss and thanked him for behaving. He quickly headed to his room but met his brother on the stairs.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked.

"I just thought I'd pop round to see the happy couple," Mycroft said.

"You missed everything -- they're gone now. And you know that," Sherlock said. He glanced up the stairs. "What were you doing up there? Were you in my room?"  
  
"Why?" Mycroft asked. "Is there something in your room I should know about?"  
  
"Of course not," Sherlock said. Why did Mycroft always have to be like this? "What were you doing?"

"I was in my old room," Mycroft said. "There was something I needed -- why are you so defensive, brother? Just wedding jitters or . . . is it something else?"

"Fuck off," Sherlock said. When Mycroft laughed a little, Sherlock added, "This is horrible and you know it. Why do you have to be so cruel?"

"Life is horrible, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "And we all have our roles to play. It could be worse, you know. You could have to work for a living."  
  
"I'd rather that than this," Sherlock mumbled.

"No you wouldn't," Mycroft said. "You don't know what life is like outside this house. Keep it that way. If you think your responsibilities here are horrible, you don't want to know how normal people live."

Sherlock felt like shouting that he did know, that he knew John and that life with John would be a million times better than this. But did he know that? Right now with John, he had no responsibilities -- John worked, Sherlock didn't. Was life with John real life? If Sherlock left this place, things with John would have to change. Sherlock would have to give up everything he'd ever known and become like a normal person. He had no idea how to do that. He had no idea if he could do that.

Sherlock said nothing else and walked up to his room. He locked his bedroom door and got out his phone. He had no new messages from John, which disappointed him a little. He started to wonder if John had already made plans for the night. Maybe he was seeing his friends. Maybe he wanted to do something normal and real, instead of this silly make believe stuff with Sherlock. Sherlock's stomach started to ache a little.

He sat down on his bed.

_I'd like to see you. Can I come to yours? SH_

John had made his way back home, heading straight up to check his phone. He saw Sherlock's message and panicked before realising he's only missed it by five minutes. 

There was a knock at Sherlock's door. He stood up and opened it. It was Mycroft, who came in and shut the door behind him.

"It must be urgent if you can't even wait a half hour after your fiancée's left," Mycroft said, glancing at Sherlock's phone on his bed.

Sherlock didn't say anything.

"I need to talk to you about John Watson," Mycroft said.

Sherlock's face went hot and red. Had Mycroft looked at his phone? Had he been following Sherlock? It didn't matter -- Sherlock should have known there was nothing he could do without his brother knowing about it.

"Listen to me, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "Don't pretend you understand other people. Don't pretend you understand 'feelings'. Whatever you think you feel about this man is no more real or relevant than what you think you feel about your marriage. Feelings, Sherlock, do not matter." He paused for a moment. "I'm guessing your reason for wanting to see him originates from your loins -- I'm surprised, I thought you were smarter than that. Perhaps it's your age . . . again, it's irrelevant. Your reason for not wanting to get married -- your ego -- is also irrelevant. You will get married, Sherlock. That is not up for debate. Quite frankly, I don't particularly care if you continue to see this man -- it won't take long before you realise that sexual desire is a waste of energy. Feel free to get it out of your system for good. But what I am telling you is that nothing will stop this wedding. You have a role to fulfill and regardless of how you spend your free time, that role will be fulfilled by you. Do you understand what I am saying?"  
  
Sherlock couldn't look over at Mycroft. He was wrong -- it wasn't just about sex. He _felt_ something for John, and John had said those feelings were love. Then he thought back to their first meeting in the park -- when Sherlock had said there was no such thing as love. Had he been wrong? Or was Mycroft right and Sherlock was mistaking desire for love? This was all so confusing.

"I asked you a question, Sherlock," Mycroft said.

Sherlock looked up. "Are you going to tell Mum?" he asked quietly.

"I don't see any reason to," Mycroft said. "Not if you can control your new little hobby. I am confident you will soon tire of it as you've done with the other little projects you've come up with in the past, and I intend to keep an eye on you until you do. But telling them will cause a disruption and there will be no disruption to the plans, will there?"

Sherlock looked down at his phone and saw that John had replied. He looked up at Mycroft. "No," he said defeatedly. "There will be no disruption to the plans."

"Good," Mycroft said. "At least he's a doctor. And handsome," he added and left the room.

Sherlock got up and locked the door again, moving back to the bed to read John's message.

_Yes, please come over. -JW_

Sherlock grabbed his bag and put a few things into it. He got out a piece of paper and wrote "Going to work at the university library. May be gone all night." He left this on his desk. He doubted anyone would realise he'd even left, but just in case they checked, he'd have himself covered. He looked out the front and saw his brother's car leaving. He waited a few more minutes and then left himself, walking far enough away from the house to be sure he wasn't seen, and then getting a taxi to John's flat. He rushed up to the door and knocked loudly.

John busied himself with getting the flat ready but as there was nothing actually wrong with it he moved on to making tea instead. When he heard the door he rushed to pull it open. "Hi," he said.

"John, it was horrible," Sherlock said pushing inside and wrapping himself around John. "It was all fake and boring and I-I…I just wanted to be here, with you."

"Okay, it's okay," John said, hugging him tightly. "You're here now. Tell me what happened."

Sherlock held John a few more minutes and then stepped back. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I don't mean to be such a baby. It's just -- it just seems worse now that I know you. It seems bigger and . . . just worse." He took a step in and dropped his bag. "Tea?"

"Yes, it should be almost done," John said. He went to make up the tea and brought it out to Sherlock as he led him to the sofa.

Sherlock took the cup and held it tightly. "It's just all so . . . not normal. I see that now," Sherlock began to ramble. "I mean, not that I want to be normal, I don't think I do and I doubt I ever could be, it's just . . . seriously, it's crazy. . . I love my mother, I do, and my parents have given me a good life and I know that's all they want for me . . . but seriously, this is just . . . I don't want to marry her, John." He looked over. "But I know I have to."

"But you don't! Just . . .come stay with me. I know I don't have much here but . . .but we can be happy here," John said. "Just leave and come and stay with me."

"John, I want to, you know I do," Sherlock said, moving closer and leaning into him. He picked up one of John's hand and ran his fingers over it. "But we've not known each other long and even if you think you like me right now, you might change your mind. I've known my family my whole life -- I've known this would happen. I owe them." He understood the logic of it all, of course, but it still seemed so crazy now that he saw the world outside that house.

"I just -- I know I won't change my mind, Sherlock," John said.

"My brother knows," Sherlock said abruptly.

"What?" John asked, sitting up a bit and stiffening nervously. What did that mean? Was Sherlock here to end it?

"He says he won't tell," Sherlock said. "In fact, he kind of says it's okay. He's older than me." Sherlock heard the words coming out of his mouth and even though they weren't lies, he knew they didn't really explain the whole thing. He had no idea how to explain his brother and wondered if maybe he shouldn't have brought him up at all. He set his mug down and tried to cuddle against John.

"So . . . is he saying you can be with me, then?" John asked, not understanding any of this.

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "Even afterwards." Sherlock put his hand on John's chest, rubbing it softly.

"Afterwards?" John asked, looking up at him.

"After the wedding," Sherlock said. "Do we have to keep talking? Can't we kiss a little instead?"

"I don't understand what you mean," John said, taking Sherlock's hand off of his chest and holding it instead.

"I mean, kissing, you know, have you forgotten what kissing is?" Sherlock shifted so he was on John's lap, straddling him. He kissed John's mouth.

John kissed him back softly, holding his hips. But a voice was telling him that something wasn't right. "No, Sherlock," he said. "I need you to explain. What did you mean about being together after?"

Sherlock humphed a little, pulling back from the kiss. "I mean, we can still be together. I told you -- it's just business with her. At the beginning, it might be hard to see each other every day, but eventually once she's sorted in the house and everything, you and I can be exactly the same and it'll be fine." He slid his fingers into John's hair, tickling the back of his neck. "See? It'll all work out, just like you said." He leaned in and kissed John's ear lightly.

"We can't, Sherlock," John said, turning his head because that felt so very good but he needed to focus. "We can't be together after you get married."

"What?" Sherlock said suddenly. "Why, John? Are you sick of me?" He pulled his head back a little. His stomach hurt. Already John had had enough -- already he could see that Sherlock wasn't worthy of him.

"No, I'm not sick of you! I care about you so much, Sherlock. But it wouldn't be right. In fact, that's why it wouldn't be right," he said. "It wouldn't be fair. She doesn't think this is just business and it wouldn't be fair to her to keep running off and leaving her."

"You don't know that, John," Sherlock said desperately. "She's not interested in me either. I could tell. She knows what's going on -- neither one of us wants it. And besides, I don't care about her. I don't care if it's not fair to her -- I only care about you."

John looked over at Sherlock. "But it's not fair for me either," he said. "Having you here, being with you and then having to send you home? I couldn't do that. I couldn't be just a toy for you to play with while you went on with your real life." He looked down at their laps and added, "I care about you a lot and I want to be with you properly."

"Is that what you think I think?" Sherlock said. He moved off of John's lap. "This isn't play to me, John. You don't understand . . ." He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them.

"You're right," John said. "I don't understand. But whatever is going on with your family -- you always have a choice. And sometimes it's a very hard choice but it's there."  He licked his lips and fiddled with his thumbs, looking down at his lap still.

"I do not!" Sherlock said, raising his voice a little. "I have no choice! My brother said . . . you don't understand. Why can't we just be happy like we were -- nothing'll be different, I can't see how anything'll be different. . ."

"I love you," John said, looking up at him now. "I'm in love with you and I can't stand it when you leave now. I can't imagine if you left me every night to sleep next to someone else." He stood and started pacing back and forth. "What if your business deal requires children? Or requires you to move away somewhere else? You can't live with your parents after you're married."

"We _will_ live there and maybe I can work it so she sleeps in a different room and if we have to go away, you can come with us, you can come on holidays, everything . . ." Sherlock said but even as the words were coming out of his mouth, he was starting to realise how stupid he was. He closed his eyes. How would he feel if every time he left John's flat, another person was coming in? Sleeping beside him? If someone else had a life with John -- any kind of life, even if it was just 'business' -- Sherlock would hate that. He didn't even like the idea that John had friends, which was totally normal. If John had a wife as well? It would be intolerable. "I'm sorry, John," he said softly. He could feel that his eyes were watering. Sherlock was crying. He was no longer stupid enough to think they could work things out. Everything was ruined.

John moved beside him again, his own eyes burning as he blinked back tears. It was awful seeing Sherlock crying. "Family is complicated. But at the end of the day, they love you, Sherlock. If you chose your own way -- please, just think about it. We could have our own flat and I'll work at the surgery and you can do experiments and . . . and we can be happy together..."

"I don't know, John," Sherlock said because he honestly didn't. Of course, he'd thought about running away when he was younger because that's what young people think. But he'd never done it because he was always smart enough to know that he had nothing. He still had nothing. He looked over at John. Did he have John? And what did that actually even mean? "I don't know . . . I'd lose everything . . . I'd have nothing to offer you. . ." He squeezed his legs more tightly to him. "I just want things to be easier," he whispered because at the moment that's one thing he knew was absolutely true.

"Nothing to offer me? Sherlock, I don't need money," he said. "I just . . .I need you. You to love me -- that's all I need." He rubbed Sherlock's back.

"I do love you, John," Sherlock said reaching up and touching one of John's hands. "But I don't know how to love someone . . . I don't know how to do it right so that you'll be happy. . ."

"I'm happy with you, Sherlock. All you have to do is be with me," he said quietly. He held Sherlock's hand back. "Want to lay down with me?" He knew that was probably going to make things a hundred times harder, but he just wanted to be close with him. This might be the last time, but he tried not to think about it.

Sherlock nodded silently and got up, following John to the bedroom.


	7. Sleep And Then Goodbye

John got down to his pants and climbed in, encouraging Sherlock to do the same before cuddling close to him.

Sherlock ran back out and grabbed his bag. When he returned, he pulled out a pair of pajamas and slipped into those. He climbed into the bed and curled around John. "I'd like to stay the night if you'll let me," he said softly.

"Yes, I would," John said, rubbing his back lightly.

Sherlock squeezed against John. He felt like he should say something, but he didn't know what to say. He was trying to make sense of what John had said. He was trying to imagine if it'd be possible to do what John said -- to leave the house and stay with John. He was trying to decide if that would be wise even if it were possible. It was too much to think about.

John could almost feel Sherlock's brain working. He didn't say anything else -- there was nothing left to say – so he just lay quietly with Sherlock and let him think it all through. All John could do now was support whatever decision he made.

Sherlock lifted his head and kissed John's mouth. It was a soft kiss. It was so strange -- when he left here last night, all he wanted to do was come back and get back into John's bed to do more sexual things. But now somehow that wasn't what was on his mind. He just wanted to be soft. Safe. John made him feel that way, too. Despite all the scary things that were happening because of meeting John, Sherlock still felt safe just being by him. He rested his head on the pillow, closing his eyes.

John watched him for a long time, admiring his face, tracing every line and curve with his eyes. He was such a handsome man that it almost ached. But he was so much more than that -- smart and caring and adorably naive. He wanted to give Sherlock everything, to make him happy. If John was a decent person, he'd break up with Sherlock and send him back home, putting a stop to this suffering.

But would that be the decent thing to do? Sending him into a family that would rather see him unhappy than lose a business deal? Sending him to a woman who could never make him happy? A brother who thought people could be used? Sherlock would be miserable, they were both miserable now. John remembered that day on the bench when he promised to prove that love existed. Now that he had it felt like a sour victory. It wasn't fair.

Sherlock's mind kept going but he did his best to ignore it -- he concentrated on his body instead. That was something new as well, thanks to John. Previously Sherlock had only really existed in his head, but John had shown him meaning in his body, too. Of course, there was excitement and desire -- Mycroft had said those things were wastes of energy, but they didn't feel like that to Sherlock. But John also had brought John physical comfort -- like now in this moment when his brain was so loud and active, his body was soft and safe and comforted.

John rubbed Sherlock's back lightly, slowing down as he started to doze off

Sherlock's mind finally slowed and he fell into a sleep. He woke a few hours later, still curled against John. He took a slow inhale and smelled John, but he smelled home as well and then realised his old quilt was covering him and John. It was so odd -- his two worlds together like this. He wished the rest of the differences could be so easily sorted.

John had a dream that he was going to interrupt the wedding and steal Sherlock away, but as they ran the ground broke apart and Sherlock was slipping away from him. He woke up with a small gasp and sighed as he curled into Sherlock.

"I'm here," Sherlock said softly against John. Eventually he was able to sleep again as well and stayed asleep next to John for the rest of the night.

John sighed and drifted off again, his arm draped loosely over Sherlock. When he woke up again he curled close and bit his lip. Sherlock had stayed the night, he could hardly believe it.

Sherlock opened his eyes to John's movement. "Good morning, John Watson," he said, smiling softly. "I've woken up in your bed." He wrapped an arm around John's back.

"You have," John smiled. He touched Sherlock's hand and rubbed gently with his thumb. "It's nice."

"I still need time to think, John," Sherlock said. He didn't want to seem abrupt, but he just needed more time to process everything. "I'm sorry."

"I know Sherlock," John said quietly. "Um, do you have to go?"

"Soon," Sherlock said. He cuddled him. "I don't want to go immediately . . . well, I don't want to go at all . . . I just mean I don't want to get up and run off." He yawned a little. "I'm comfortable here, John. I don't know if you know how much that means to me."

"It means a lot to me, too," John murmured. "I appreciate your not leaving right away. I like waking up with you."

"I like it too," Sherlock said. "I've never woken up with anyone before. Don't tell me if you have -- I can figure it out but I don't want to know." As he was saying it, he thought about how he'd feel if someone else had the chance to wake up with John every day. How could Sherlock have thought that John would be okay staying with him even after he got married? He turned on his side, burying his face into John's chest. "God, John. . . everything's so complicated and unfair," he mumbled.

"I know, Sherlock. I'm sorry," he said. John pet his hair softly.

Sherlock let John pet him for a few moments. It was so surprisingly how comforting John's touch was. Would Sherlock be able to give that up for good? He definitely didn't want to and honestly didn't think he could. He had to think of something. He looked up at John and kissed his mouth.

John closed his eyes and kissed Sherlock back, his fingers curling in his hair.

They lay there for a little longer, just kissing. It felt good. And then Sherlock realised it was making him feel more than good. He reached for John's hand and led it to his erection. "John," he whispered. "This is happening."

"I can help with that," John said, palming himself through his pajamas harder.

Sherlock pushed his hips against John's. He let his hands move up and over John's back and then slid one to the waistband of his pants. He moved his hand inside and held John, all the while kissing his mouth.

"Take everything off so we can see each other and touch better," John said.

Sherlock pulled back a little and took off his pajamas. Then he slid against John a little roughly, tangling their legs and kissing his neck.

John moaned and pressed against him hard, slipping his hand between them and stroking him steadily.

"Feels good," Sherlock mumbled against John's skin. His hand moved slowly and firmly, gripping John as their bodies were shifted the bed.

"It feels so good, Sherlock," John moaned. His hand matched Sherlock as they moved  together. He tried not to think about how much harder this would make things. He focused on Sherlock's hand and the sounds that he was making. John kissed him again, moaning into the kiss.

Sherlock was overwhelmed with every thought, every feeling, every movement. He felt the intensity fill his entire body, even his brain, and then he came against their bodies, his breath mixing with a whisper to say John's name.

John shuddered and followed soon after, moaning Sherlock's name as he came. Everything was mixed together and he leaned in to kiss Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock kissed him back. "I think it is love, John," he whispered after the kiss, pressing his mouth to John's cheek.

John nodded and didn't know what to say. Did it matter what it was if Sherlock left anyways?

Sherlock stayed close to John as they both caught their breaths and settled. It was so nice being here and, of course, he wished he never had to leave. But he did. He pulled back a little. "I should probably get going," Sherlock said. "I doubt anyone's looking for me . . . but just in case."

"Okay," John said quietly. "Um, since we can't see each other after the wedding I think . . . I think we should stop before . . .before it gets harder . . ."

"John, no --" Sherlock called quickly before stopping and turning his head away. He swallowed. "I understand . . . I don't want to stop -- I don't want to stop before or after or ever . . . but I understand." He could feel his eyes filling with water.

"I don't want to either but . . .but it's just so hard already and I can't," he tried to explain.

"All right," Sherlock said, turning as he sat up. He reached over and grabbed his clothes, getting dressed in silence. He zipped up his bag and stood up. "All right," he said again, looking over at John but kind of looking through him instead of actually seeing him, instead of actually letting John see Sherlock's heart breaking.

John sat up and hugged his knees, the tears spilling freely. Why didn't he just stay? They could be so happy. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"No," Sherlock said softly. "I'm sorry." He walked over and put a kiss on the top of John's head. "Just . . . I need to think . . ." He lifted his bag and headed to the door.

John pressed his forehead to his knees and couldn't even get up to see Sherlock out. He knew this had been coming but he never expected it to be this hard.

Sherlock walked all the way home. As he approached the house, he pulled his phone out. No messages from anyone. He entered the house and went straight to his room. He locked the door, dropped his bag and lay down on his bed and cried.

John heard the door shut, and he buried against his knees, crying quietly. He felt a squirming mess of guilt for not seeing Sherlock out since it was probably going to be the last time they ever saw each other. A small voice in his head wondered why they couldn't have just worked it out -- he could have been the side boyfriend if it meant keeping Sherlock. But the more reasonable voice spoke over that one, drowning it out. It could never have worked that way. His mind resolved to playing awful scenarios where John was walking in the park and he would see Sherlock and his wife walking together or when he passed in front of the house he would see them through one of the large windows. 

Unable to keep thinking about things like that he got up and left the room, taking a long bath and making himself some dinner. He hardly had any appetite and most of it went right back into the fridge. It hadn't been a good distraction and before long he was getting into his bed again even though it was only seven. As he pulled the blanket up, he realised that it was Sherlock's. John lifted the quilt and covered his face, taking a deep breath as his eyes filled and spilled over. His chest was aching. He curled up with the blanket and lay in the quiet, staring at the other pillow and imagining that Sherlock was still here. 

He shifted to get more comfortable and he felt his arm tangle in something else. When he pulled everything out, he saw it was Sherlock's pajamas. He started crying again and wondered if he was ever going to come back for them or if he would leave them as lost forever. He imagined Sherlock coming back, and he didn't know if he would have the strength to send him away again. He pulled both pieces close and when he fell asleep he was immersed in everything that was Sherlock. 

Once Sherlock had cried out what he was sure was all his tears, he got up to take a shower. It was stupid but he almost regretted it -- it was like washing away any evidence of John and what they had together. When he got back to his bedroom, he lit the candle from the dinner with John and set it on the bedside table. He got into bed and tried to go away in his mind.

He heard a knock at his door. "Are you all right?" his mother asked.

"Yes," Sherlock called. "I'm asleep."

His mother opened the bedroom door Sherlock realised he'd forgotten to lock. "Have you been in bed all day? I've not seen you since yesterday," she said without taking a step inside.

"Yes," Sherlock said. He turned away from the door. "I don't think I'm very well."

"Hmmm," his mother said. "I don't think I believe you. I think you've pouting." She paused for a moment but got no reaction. "I really don't know what to do about you, Sherlock. I've tried to be patient. I understand that to some this whole thing seems unusual. But it shouldn't to you, Sherlock. This is how it is -- you know that, you've always known that. I do love you, son, but I need you to be a part of this family. I need you to do your part for the family." She paused again. "Blow out the candle if you're going back to sleep." She turned and shut the door behind her.

Sherlock waited a few minutes. He got up and locked the door. He blew out the candle and got back in bed.

John slept uncomfortably through the night. He kept waking up from nightmares and kept getting tangled in Sherlock's clothes. Eventually he was forced to fold them up and place them on the other pillow, keeping the blanket on him as he slipped into an uneasy sleep again. When he woke up in the morning, he still felt exhausted and he didn't get out of bed until he absolutely had to for the toilet. He checked his phone but there were no new messages. He opened a draft to Sherlock but he was only torturing himself. He couldn't send Sherlock a message. This had been his idea to end it now, and deep down he knew it was the right thing to do. He needed to stick to that. In the end this would hurt less than getting closer and closer to Sherlock only to have to give him up on the wedding day. He simply had to move on. Not simply. This was anything but simple. But he needed to try. 

Sherlock didn't sleep but went away in his mind the whole night. He first tried to go to places without John, before John, but it wasn't long until he was back in those memories of John: the first meeting, the desire to see him again, the kisses. The things that made Sherlock feel like his family responsibilities didn't exist. The things that made Sherlock felt loved.


	8. A Plan

When Sherlock could hear the birds singing outside, he knew it was morning. But he didn't get out of bed. He heard his phone make a noise. He didn't want to look -- he so wanted it to be John, but he knew it wouldn't be. He lay there for as long as he could until his curiosity got the best of him.

_Mother says you might be ill. Not love sick, I hope. MH_

_Leave me alone. SH_

_Stop being so selfish. No one is trying to hurt you. This isn't about you. MH_

_It should be. It's my life. SH_

_The world does not revolve around Sherlock Holmes. I gave you a solution. MH_

_That solution is unacceptable. SH_

_Then this problem is unsolvable. MH_

Sherlock set his phone on the table and went back to bed.

John went through his weekend as if he was on autopilot. He kept Sherlock's pajamas folded on the pillow and the quilt tossed over his bed even though he knew it was probably making things harder for him. On Monday he took a different route to avoid the house all together but that didn't stop John from having to hear all about what was going on over there. Sarah came in talking about all of the decorations and how lovely everything looked. It must be happening any day now, and she said they would probably put photos in the paper. John wondered for how long he could actually avoid seeing them. Would it matter if the woman was beautiful? Would it be harder? John wondered if he should send a gift but then realised that it would be a mean thing to do to Sherlock.

The next day there must have been even more things going on at the house because several patients were talking about it and asking if John had gone by there recently. Unable to help himself, John passed by that afternoon and had to stop to admire it all. There were so many new flowers and ribbons and tables and chairs and tents -- it was really all ready to go. He wanted to run in there and just knock everything to the ground. He wondered which window was Sherlock's and thought about how his family would react if he stood underneath it and played love songs until they let John have him. Or until they had him arrested. If Sherlock had only said that this was what he wanted it would all be so much easier. But all he ever said was that this is what his parents wanted, that this is what was right. This was necessary. Sherlock wanted to be with John and that's what made walking away so difficult. 

John was now assuming that Sherlock knew he'd forgotten his things and was leaving them purposefully for John to keep. Sometimes he thought that was as cruel as sending Sherlock a wedding present, but for the most part he was grateful. If he didn't move them around too much they kept their scent and he disturbed them only to inhale against them. He missed Sherlock. He hated everything about this. 

Sherlock spent most of his time avoiding his mother -- now that things were coming into place, she was in her element. He made it clear he wanted nothing to do with any of it; she should do what she wanted because she would anyway. He wondered if this was part of his role in the family, giving his mother something to do. It made him angry at her, but then he realised it also made him feel a bit sad. This utterly meaningless event meant so much to her.

Which made it all the worse to think about, because Sherlock had not given up. It felt like all he thought about, considering every option he could come up with -- from the utterly ridiculous to the stupidly unrealistic.

Basically he realised that while he did want to get his own way and be with John, it was also important to him not to hurt anyone else. That was impossible -- his family's response would be more than disappointment; they, especially his mother, would be hurt because rejecting this marriage would be seen as a rejection of them. He didn't want them to be hurt.

He didn't want Emma to be hurt -- there was no reason for it. She didn't love him, he didn't love her, that was clear. But embarrassment would hurt her; he knew in their world, embarrassment could be devastating.

But he also knew that every day he did nothing to change the situation, John was hurting and that was worst of all.

He waited for his mother in the kitchen. When she finally came in alone, he said, "I'd like you to stop with all of this, please."  
  
She looked over at Sherlock with a face that simply said no.

"I need Emma's phone number, please," he said.

"Why?"

"This time next week, I'll be sleeping with her -- at your request -- yet you won't let me ring her?" Sherlock said. He had a feeling that comment would get a rise out of her. He was right.

"Fine, don't be crass," she said, flustered as she went over to the desk to write down the number.

"It's all your doing -- you've made arrangements for me to have sex with someone. In fact, you're in charge of my losing my virginity. That's a lovely family tradition, Mother," Sherlock said, his voice revealing more of his anger than he intended it to.

She slapped the piece of paper on the table in front of Sherlock. "Grow up," she said, trying to take back control of the situation. 

"Why should I when you treat me like a child, controlling even the most intimate aspects of my whole fucking life," he said and rushed upstairs to his room.

He typed the number into his phone.

_Do you want to marry me? SH_

He set the phone on his lap and closed his eyes, waiting for her response.

_Maybe. If I got to know you. Emma_

_Do you want to marry me on Saturday? SH_

_Can I get to know you before then? Emma_

_It seems very unlikely. SH_

_What's going on? Emma_

_I do know me and I can assure you, you would not want to marry me Saturday or any day. Because I don't love you. I don't love you because I don't know you. I love someone else and I don't want either of us to be put in that position. SH_

Sherlock took a deep breath before he hit send. He didn't want her to be hurt. It felt like forever until his phone vibrated again.

_I don't love you, Sherlock. I also love someone else. Emma_

Sherlock read it over five times. Surely, this was good, wasn't it? Why didn't he feel happy? Because it just proved that all of this was out of his control. Out of both of their control.

_Can you leave with the person you love? SH_

_I'm afraid to. Emma_

_I can get you money. SH_

_It's more than that. Emma_

_I know. SH_

_Can you leave with the person you love? Emma_

_I'm afraid to. SH_

Sherlock was a little surprised by how easily he admitted that to her. But it was a strange relief to have someone inside his world finally understand how he felt, even stranger that that person was his fiancée.

_But as hard as it will be for either of us now, it'll only get harder if we go through with it. SH_

There was a long pause before her reply arrived.

_Give me a minute. I'll be back. Emma_

Sherlock leaned back on his pillow and waited. It was two hours before she responded.

_Meet me in fifteen minutes? Emma_

Sherlock was already on his way to meet her before he even sent his reply.

As the end of the week came closer, John was getting more and more distracted. He assumed the wedding would be over the weekend but he didn't know for sure so every passing day started with the anxiety that this was the day it had happened. Ironically, every day there was no wedding John was also devastated because that was one more day he could have been having with Sherlock.

On Thursday he was making his way home and he took the long way, avoiding the house and trying not to think about it. He was always trying and always failing. He cut through the park and stopped short when he glanced at the picnic tables. It was Sherlock. He was sitting with a beautiful woman -- probably his fiancée -- and some other man.

Was that Sherlock's brother? John moved a bit closer to have a better look. He didn't look like Sherlock and besides he was really close to that woman. Were they holding hands? Yes. So who were these people? Sherlock had told John he didn't have any friends. He felt his stomach squirm unpleasantly. Had Sherlock lied? He felt ashamed to admit that knowing Sherlock was alone made John's own loneliness a little easier to bear. Now that he saw Sherlock out with people, it was like he'd been feeling lonely for nothing.

It was strange -- after this meeting, Sherlock realised he could have actually liked Emma. She seemed pretty nice and thoughtful and she actually was quite pretty. She seemed . . . happy and that was the difference between her today and her the other times they'd met. She hadn't been happy thinking she'd have to marry Sherlock. And now that he saw her happy with this man, Sherlock knew they had to do the right thing. If they got married, their families might be happy but now there were four lives who would be miserable. That wasn't right.

The arrangements were complicated but they were possible. Between the three of them, they could work this out. They walked to the bank and then to the travel agents and then stopped at a cafe. Both Emma and Daniel were nice, but Sherlock wouldn't want to be married to either of them. Sherlock let their chatter fade from his mind for a moment as he stared out the window. What if John walked by? What would he do?

"What about you?" Emma asked. "Will she leave with you?"

"Who?" Sherlock asked, abruptly brought back to reality.

"Your girlfriend," Emma clarified. "You should be happy too, Sherlock. You're helping us -- can we help you?"  
  
"I don't have a girlfriend," Sherlock said, staring at his mug.

"But you said --" Emma said before the penny dropped. "I see . . . does he want to be with you?"

"I hope so," Sherlock said. God, he did.

"I'm sure he does," Daniel said. 

"I hope so," Sherlock repeated. He finished his tea and stood up. He leaned over and kissed Emma's cheek and then shook Daniel's hand. "Congratulations and good luck," he said.

"We'll text you in the morning," Emma said.

Sherlock smiled weakly and walked home.

John had hurried away from the table and left the park, heading to a pub and ordering a pint. And then a second one, and then a third. That was when Mike found him. John happily invited Mike over and his pints turned into shots. For a while it felt good. Then, as he stared into his small glass of liquor, he imagined Sherlock standing at the altar for some woman he didn't even know.

He paid for the drinks and left, heading straight back to his flat. He was crying before he made it properly inside and before he knew it he was curled and pressed into Sherlock's clothes and quilt, sobbing until he fell asleep.

When Sherlock got back to the house, he went to find his parents. "I've used some money this evening," he said, standing back a bit from them. "I wanted to get Emma something special before this weekend."

"What'd you buy her?" his mother asked. Her wide smile annoyed Sherlock.

"That's between me and her. But it's something she really wanted and it was quite expensive so I just wanted to let you know," Sherlock said. 

"That's fine," his father mumbled without looking up from the newspaper. "It's your money."

"Is it?" Sherlock asked. "Then why is your name also on the account?" 

His mum sighed. "Sherlock wants to be a big boy," she said to her husband, but Sherlock headed out of the room before he heard if his father said anything in return.

He went up to his room and started to pack.


	9. A Happy Ending

John woke up with one of the worst headaches he'd ever had. His face felt puffy and he felt slightly nauseous and he was tangled in the pajamas again, one piece wrapped around his neck and the other trapping his arm to his side. He got himself up and untangled and went straight into the bathroom, taking a long hot shower to freshen up a bit. His face certainly felt better. We went into the kitchen to make some toast in the hopes that it settled his stomach a bit but he was starting to suspect it wasn't so much from the drinking as it was everything else. He remembered seeing Sherlock in the park and he leaned against the counter with a heavy sigh. He didn't understand the point of Sherlock telling him that he didn't have any friends when he obviously did. John had already proven he liked Sherlock without needing a story to go with it all. Sherlock didn't have to try to win his love. He already had it before he said all of those things. As he nibbled on his toast he tried to think about what else it could have been, but it was hard because he was hurting and his brain refused to cooperate. 

At one point he started thinking that the whole wedding was a sham to break up with John but that was when he realised he needed to stop being silly because the wedding had been in the papers before John had met him. And in all honesty Sherlock had seemed just as upset when he was leaving the other day. He had to resign to the fact that he didn't know anything that was going on. He didn't understand what he saw, he didn't understand why it was all happening, and the only thing he could do was move on now and try to remember the good times they had had.

When Sherlock woke up, he was genuinely surprised he had slept at all -- he went to bed filled with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. He showered quickly and threw his bathroom stuff into a bag. He sat down and read over the letter he had written last night.

 

_You should know that Emma will not be coming to the wedding this weekend. She won't be marrying me because she does not love me. I don't love her. We both love other people._

_She and I both regret that this news will disappoint our parents. Neither of us wants to hurt our families, but we also don't want to hurt each other or anyone else. We have agreed that it is better to end this now rather than suffer perpetually._

_We hope you understand though we know that you probably will not._

_Because of this, I have decided it is time for me to leave the house. It's time for me to be in the world._

_Sherlock_

 

It didn't say everything he wanted to say, but truthfully he didn't know precisely what he did want to say, so he decided to leave it at that. He sealed it in an envelope and set it on his bed. He went to his window and looked to see what was happening outside. Then he sat down in his chair, his phone sitting on his thigh, waiting for it to sound.

After his toast John went back to his room and folded Sherlock's things. He held them in his arms for a moment and tried to figure out where he wanted to put them, but in the end they ended up right back on the second pillow. He knew in his head that it was over, but he couldn't really let go just yet. Soon. After the wedding. He walked back out of his room and got on his computer to find a different distraction, going to check on his blog which he hadn't written on in a while. It wasn't doing the trick. He found himself Googling Sherlock and, after avoiding anything about the wedding, he settled on a site about tobacco ash and he read through that as if it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. 

Sherlock had closed his eyes and gone inside his head to the memories of John. His phone buzzed and startled him.

_We're on the train. Good luck. And thank you. Emma_

Sherlock straightened his bed, placing his envelope neatly on the pillow. He grabbed his bags and walked out, leaving his bedroom door wide open. He moved smoothly through the house, out the door, and down the path as quickly as he could. It felt like as soon as he could get onto the street, he'd be safe. He snuck down an alley between buildings and caught a cab, giving the driver John's address. He walked up to the door, setting his bags to the side so they couldn't be seen. He took a deep breath and knocked.

John was startled out of his reading, looking over at the door. He wasn't expecting anyone and for a moment he almost ignored it so they would just go away. He read two more lines before he decided he should at least see who it was. He closed the computer top and went over to the door, peeking out of the window. "Oh," he sighed softly, pulling open the door. "Sherlock."

Everything that Sherlock had planned to say went out of his head the minute he saw John's face. "I missed you," he said stupidly instead.

John blinked at him. "I . . ." He took a deep breath. "I missed you too but . . .you can't be here," he forced himself to say. It hurts too much, didn't Sherlock see that? Didn't he feel it? "Please . . .you have to go." 

"I don't want to go," Sherlock said. "I don't have to go . . . it's not going to happen, John . . . the wedding, I mean. I want to be with you but if it's too hard . . . don't feel you have to just because I . . ." His face was burning, and he swallowed to try to stop his rambling. "I came by to tell you I'm not getting married. If you want me to go, I will . . . I just wanted to tell you." 

"You're not?" John licked his lips and went over all of the words Sherlock had said. "But I thought that wasn't an option." 

"Being without you wasn't an option," Sherlock said softly.

John's breath caught in his throat. "Um. Do you want to come inside?" he asked, stepping to the side a bit. 

"Yes," Sherlock said, taking a tentative step inside. But as John shut the door, he said, "Wait -- I've . . . I've got some things." He stepped back and lifted the bags, setting them inside the door. "It's just . . . my stuff, I guess." He stood there awkwardly.

John nodded and moved to shut the door. He cleared his throat softly and took Sherlock's bags, leading the way into the sitting room. He set them on the arm chair, sat on the sofa, and motioned for Sherlock to join him. "So -- so what is going to happen now?" he asked, looking over at him. 

"I have absolutely no idea," Sherlock admitted, sitting down on the sofa but not too close to John. "She's gone off and so have I. We've both left notes for our families . . . I suppose it seems childish to you, two grown ups running away like that. But . . . it's done."

"It doesn't seem childish, Sherlock. I think it's brave. You told me that leaving meant losing everything and you did it anyways. I don't . . . I don't know what to say," he said. He was so happy that Sherlock wasn't getting married, but he was terrified that Sherlock was going to regret all of this and it would be his fault. 

"It's hardly brave . . ." Sherlock mumbled. He looked over at John. "I don't know what to say either . . ."

John licked his lips lightly. "I'm happy . . . I mean, I'm happy that you came and found me. Not that you've lost everything else," he added. 

"I didn't come to find you, John," Sherlock said. "I've already found you. I came to tell you and . . . to see if . . . you wanted to . . . be with me."

John blinked, stunned for a moment that Sherlock didn't know that already. "Sherlock, yes! Of course I do, yes," he nodded. 

Sherlock moved a little closer and kind of let his body fall against John's. He picked up John's hands in his own. "I'm glad," he said softly with a big smile of happiness and relief.

John leaned his head on Sherlock's shoulder and laced their fingers together. "I know what you gave up -- what this means -- and I promise you won't regret it. I'm going to do my best to make you happy, okay? You won't even miss your big house and all that money," he added, smiling softly.  

"I guess . . . I'm frightened a bit, I guess," Sherlock said. "I don't know what to expect."

John nodded. "I know it's going to be different," he said. 

"Could I at least spend tonight here?" Sherlock asked, lifting his legs a little so he was kind of on John's lap. It felt so good to be physically close to him again.

"You can stay as long as you want," John said, wrapping his arms around him.

"Don't say that, though," Sherlock said. "Obviously I want to stay forever. But I've never done anything like this -- never been in a proper relationship, never lived with someone -- I've never done any of it. I might not do it right, I might not do it well. I don't want you to ever feel like you want me to go but are afraid to say anything. Please, John, promise me you'll be honest -- even if it's hard." He let himself be held by John.

"I promise," John said. "There really isn't a wrong or right. We're going to figure it out, okay?"

"Okay, John Watson," Sherlock said. He looked up at him, lifting his hands to hold John's cheeks. He leaned in and kissed him softly.

John kissed him back, sliding his hands up Sherlock's sides and holding his back, one hand going right up into his hair.

Sherlock let a small noise escape from his mouth. God, he'd missed John's touch. It seemed like forever. "I didn't know what to expect when I came back to see you at the park that day . . . I never expected any of this. But I'm so glad." He kissed John again.

John nodded, kissing him a bit sloppily in his need. "I'm glad . . . I'm so glad you came back," he murmured between them.

Sherlock kissed him a few more times. "Did you go out on other dates this week? Did someone else sleep here?" he asked quietly.

John almost laughed. He shook his head. "No, Sherlock. I missed you so much. I haven't seen anyone. No one's been here," he said

"I just worried . . ." Sherlock said. "It was so hard being away, not being able to see you. I thought of you all the time." 

"Me too," John nodded, kissing along his jaw and biting softly at his neck. He couldn't get enough of him. "I hated every second. In fact, I slept with your clothes," he admitted.

"Did you steal some of my clothes?" Sherlock said, leaning back and looking at him.

"You left things," John said, feeling his cheeks warm. "Your pajamas and the quilt . . ."

"Oh, I forgot about the pajamas," Sherlock said, smiling. "But that's why I brought the quilt in the first place . . . to trick you into thinking about me when I'm not here."

"That's a lovely thought, but it was difficult when I thought I'd never see you again," John admitted. 

"Still . . . you should have had more faith, John Watson," Sherlock said. "You're the only person I've ever loved. Didn't you think I would have figured something out?" He smiled widely and kissed John's ear.

"Given your first idea, I was skeptical," John said. Sherlock's mouth felt very good and it was quite distracting. 

"Stop making fun of me," Sherlock said. "I forget what your bedroom looks like. I wonder . . . maybe I could go take a look?"

"Should I wait here?" John smiled, turning to kiss his mouth again. "Let's go."

Sherlock grabbed one of his bags and followed John into his room. He got out a pair of pajamas and started to undress. "First off," he said. "You needn't point out that it's not even noon yet. Yes, I am getting ready to go to bed. I want to get by you and pretend it's night and this time there won't be anything sad about it."

"I won't argue," John smiled, following Sherlock's lead and undressing as well. "That sounds very nice, actually." 

"If you have work, please call in sick," Sherlock said. "I know you're a doctor and I know money matters but today I need you to stay here all day, all right?"

"I don't have work today," John assured him. "I am here. With you," he smiled. 

"I'll be your patient today, Doctor Watson," Sherlock said, crawling into the bed. "I've been experiences heart palpitations, feelings of longing and an occasional swelling in the groin area. What's your diagnosis or do you need to do a full exam first?"

John licked his lips, heat flooding into his belly and groin. "Full exam," he nodded. "Sounds serious so we should be thorough." He pulled Sherlock close and had him lie down before he climbed up and straddled his thighs. "Heart palpitations first," he said, leaning down and kissing over Sherlock's heart. 

"John, I've missed this so much . . ." Sherlock said. "It's like I forgot how good it felt." He lifted his hands to John's arms and squeezed them.

John nodded, grazing his teeth over Sherlock's skin. "The only treatment for the longing is being close," he said, grinding down against Sherlock so their cocks rubbed together. He huffed softly and did it again. 

"John," Sherlock moaned softly. He swallowed and tried to gather himself. "It's been terrible . . . I haven't slept . . . I can't eat or focus -- do you think whatever the problem is it's starting to affect my mind as well?" He let his hips move as John's did.

"It's okay now. I can make you all be better," John said, coming up to kiss Sherlock's mouth as he rutted against him. The friction felt incredible.

"See?" Sherlock said. "The swelling's back." He smiled as he kissed John hard. He reached down between their bodies and held John's cock. "Did you use your toy while I was gone?" he whispered.

John shook his head, bucking into Sherlock's hand. "I couldn't," he said. He had been hurting too much to think of things like that.

Sherlock moved his hand over, lifting his hips against the friction of their moving bodies. "I want to do it to you," he said softly.

John pressed his mouth to Sherlock's, kissing him steady and hard. "Okay," he said.

"I never have with anyone," Sherlock mumbled as he turned their bodies over on the bed. "It'll only be you." On top of John now, he reached down and started a steady stroke on his cock, watching his hand and then looking up at John again before kissing him.

John felt heat pooling in his stomach as he thought about the fact that he'd be Sherlock's only one. He pushed harder into the kiss, holding his hair again and rolling into his hand.

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I remember what to do but tell me if . . . just let me know, okay? Is the stuff in here?" he asked, nodding towards the bedside cabinet.

John nodded.

Sherlock leaned over and got out the bottle of lube and a condom. He hoped he'd be able to put it on properly -- he never had used one and should have paid more attention when John did. He set it to the side and poured some lube into his hand. He moved between John's legs and began touching him, slicking the area, before slowly pushing one fingertip inside.

John bit his lip and sighed happily, closing his eyes to enjoy the feeling of it. "That's good," he moaned quietly.

Sherlock shifted so he could lean over and kiss John as he began to move his finger. He opened his eyes and looked at his handsome face. "This is good," he said before kissing him again. John's movement was driving Sherlock crazy now. "More?" he asked, pulling his finger out and slowly pushing two in.

"God, it's good -- you feel so good," John moaned loudly.

Sherlock liked hearing John's voice praising him -- it helped silence his nerves and let him focus on feeling good and helping John feel good. Sherlock realised his hips were moving with the rhythm of his fingers, and he imagined how it would be when he was actually inside John.

"Curve . . .just a bit," John said, lifting his head to look down  at Sherlock.

Sherlock curled his fingers a bit and clearly hit the spot John was looking for. John's body moved, and a sound came out of his mouth -- a sound that went straight from Sherlock's ears to his cock and suddenly he was almost aching to be inside. "John," he said. "Now?"

John nodded. "Now, yes . . .please."

Sherlock slipped his fingers from John's body and grabbed the condom. He managed to put it on and then put a little more lube on John and himself, just to be sure. He didn't want to have to worry about hurting John -- he wasn't sure if he was going to actually be able to think properly at all. He moved his body, holding himself as he lined up and slowly started to push inside of John. His eyes closed and his brain went so full of every sensation that it almost seemed empty.

John gasped softly and closed his own eyes, feeling every inch of Sherlock slowly filling him. He gripped the bed and moaned softly.

"Am I hurting you?" Sherlock said, stopping for a second.

John shook his head. "No, it's perfect. Please don't stop."

Sherlock leaned down and kissed John as he slowly pushed all the way in. He opened his eyes to look at him and then his body took over. His hips began to rock, and he couldn't believe how good it felt moving inside John.

John planted his feet on the bed and let his knees fall open so that Sherlock could go deep into him. It felt incredible. He moaned into the kiss, tugging at Sherlock's hair and moving lightly with him.

"John, I'm sorry -- I'm so close already," Sherlock huffed, his voice breathy as his heart rate was soaring. "It's too good."

"Just a bit more," John murmured. He reached down and started stroking himself in time with Sherlock, moaning as he leaked onto his hand. 

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, worried that watching John touching himself would be too much. His body never felt so good -- he'd never cared or thought much about his body -- but it was now filled with so much pleasure, he thought he was going to explode. Which he was and then did. He opened his eyes as he came, looking straight into John's as he called out his name.

John moaned loudly as he felt Sherlock filling him. He stroked himself faster and followed after him, coming between them as he called out Sherlock's name over and over as the wave coursed through him.

Sherlock let himself collapse on top of John. "Oh my god, John," he exhaled. "Everything . . ." but he didn't really know what he was trying to say.

"I know," John sighed softly, wrapping his arms around Sherlock as they lay there together.

Sherlock felt so safe and so good and so exhausted. After a few minutes, he reached down and took off the condom. "What do I do with this?"

"There's a bin on the other side of the bed, you can just toss it in there," John murmured.

"Sorry," Sherlock mumbled as he tossed the condom and then moved in close to John, curling around him. "Was it okay?" he asked quietly.

"It was great," John said, turning into him as well and kissing his forehead. "Sherlock, I'm so glad you're here..."

"I'm happy, John," Sherlock said, pressing even closer. "You make me happy."

"You make me happy too," John said. "I'm going to try my hardest to make sure you always are."

"Just . . . let's just stay like this," Sherlock said. He ran his fingertips up and down John's chest. "Until we die. Just like this. Okay?" 

John smiled and pressed against Sherlock happily. "Okay, Sherlock."

Sherlock put a kiss on John's arm. "You have changed absolutely everything in my life, John Watson," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

"I love you, Sherlock," John said quietly, kissing his temple.

"I love you too, John," Sherlock said, closing his eyes as well.


End file.
